Unable to dispel the notion he was being stalked by a hidden fiend, he crossed to the other side of the road, so as to give himself an unobstructed view of the rooftops, while continuing his journey. Then he saw what he dreaded most; a predatory apparition, unmistakably human in form, flowing stealthily across the rooftops like a creature of air. In the grip of fear and isolation, he struggled to articulate his scrambled thoughts.
Believing he was being pursued by a supernatural being, he damned his fate in the conviction of his own innocence. The battle for his life had begun. Resisting an overwhelming urge to panic, he refocused on reaching the imagined sanctuary of the police patrol car. Breaking into a sprint, his heart pulsed
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From the corner of his eye he glimpsed the dark outline stalking him along the rooftops; moving with the ease of a shadow bound to no gravity. Reaching the street corner where he intended to turn, his equilibrium faltered when he went to swerve; sending him sprawling over his own tangled feet. Breaking a heavy fall with the palms of his hands, he ignored the shooting pain and jumped back to his feet instantly. In a fear fueled adrenaline rush, he continued his flight, driving himself relentlessly onwards. Running flat out with lungs bursting and limbs flailing he twisted his head around to check behind. In the shadowy twilit street a nebulous figure followed in pursuit. Only the thought of the narrowing distance to the rendezvous inspired in him, one last effort of flight. His exhausted body begged him to stop, but the specter of death drove him on, the finishing line came into view, symbolizing the outermost limitations of his …show more content…
But still he strove on, breathless and in the final throes of exhaustion.
Glancing back once more, he struggled to believe his eyes; the nebulous figure, closing in on him fast, had come into clear focus now and revealed himself to be no other than the pedestrian he'd seen mowed down by the Corvette.
Drawing what little breath he could, he forced a feeble cry from his lungs:
'Help! Help me!'
An emergency siren seemed to answer his prayers; a patrol car appeared, rushing toward him like a white knight of salvation. Braced for the impact of an attack at any moment he struggled on toward it.
Screeching to an abrupt halt, two cops alighted from either side of the car, with guns drawn and pointed.
'Drop to the ground! Put your hands behind your head!'
They shouted in unison.
Collapsing prostrate to the ground, inaudible words fell from Kurt’s trembling lips.
Holding him firmly against the ground they frisked him.
One of them found Kurt’s wallet and retrieved his ID.
'Kurt Kuffner?’
He asked.
'Yes... that’s me,’ he wheezed.
'What happened to the creature chasing me? Has it gone?'
He murmured
“He was carried through the exit to the back street and lifted into a police car. The siren began to scream and at first he thought he was making the noise himself. He felt his lips with his hands. They were clamped tight. He knew then it was the siren. For some reason this made him laugh and he began to imitate the siren as loud as he could.” (185)
Untouched and unhindered, he continued on a path, not yet discovered, towards the unknowing Prince Prospero. Although he had a slow pace, he made an unexplainable distance in a small amount of time. Some masqueraded man from the retreating group grew enraged and curious of this mysterious man. He ran up to the figure and placed a hand on his mask with the intent to tear it off of the ghostly man. The moment he laid his hand upon the mask, he screamed in agony and pain. Then, unable to pull his hand or the mask free, his fate was sealed. His scream withered away along with his final breath, as he turned old and crumpled onto the lustrous floor in a pile of black ash. Silence and absolute stillness filled the room before a wine glass, half full of a red drink, descended from the whitley g...
The description of the road brings suspense to the reader. He said “There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree,” (326) then he spots a figure of a man. Goodman Brown nervously follows the old man as they talk and walk down the road. Goodman Brown notices the old man’s staff “which bore the likeness of a great black snake,” (326). The man rushes Goodman Brown down the trail. Goodman Brown eventually stops and said “It is my purpose now to return whence I came,” (327). The devilish old man persistence to continue down this long darken trail rises suspense. It makes the reader wonder, what is so important? Does Goodman Brown run away or keep going? This brings the third complication.
One flicker of the light and the shadow possessed a bloody machete, with a dead body in his grasp. My body dropped in horror of the grimly image. I peeked below to see where the figure was located. Once the light flickered off and on, the shadowy figure had vanished. I tried to understand the
It was a beautiful night. It was perfect for a walk. As I strolled further into the park a figure approached me. It was as dark as pitch so I couldn’t make out who it was. It was late; you wouldn’t usually see anyone at this time. My heart was beating faster and faster. The strange thing was I wasn’t frightened; it was just my heart beating rapidly. As the masculine figure approached, I began to walk slower. That was when I heard the voice.
I bellowed. After telling him I needed him to follow the three guys with the spiked Mohawk haircuts, he slammed the door. Wincing, not only from the volume of the metal door being over zealously closed but the cabin air pressure increasing to a level that pushed my eyes deep into their sockets. I put my head against the back of the seat.
His heartbeat accelerated and he went into complete and utter shock, the world around him moving in slow motion.
Pedaling my bike, I swerved left and right, dodging all sorts of trash which littered the desolate ground beneath my feet. The car was gaining ground fast; its ebony visage glaring at me like some hell-spawned demon. A cold clammy hand seemed to envelope my body. I knew I could not escape.
I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it was him for I recognized his walk. His feet dragged on the rough concrete as he made his way across the parking lot, his beat up tennis shoes threatening to fall apart with every step he took. I knew I couldn’t run fast enough. A cold shiver ran up and down my spine as his fingers wrapped around the car handle. He slid into the driver’s seat and the next few minutes were followed by silence. In that exact moment, a car passed by and the glow from its headlights momentarily lit up the vehicle. During those few seconds I was able to focus on the expression of his face. The look of such cold heartedness and rage did not seem to affect me the way it usually did. I’d seen it many times before but this time I no longer had the feeling to beg for forgiveness and apologize. All anger and fear left me, and I was myself once more. I did not want to be afraid of him any
I looked up the street to confirm Perry’s observation, wiped the endless flow of stinging sweat from my eyes, and then turned to see if a protected path was behind us as another volley of shots cracked the silence, the sound echoing like sharp thunderclaps. “The car is about four blocks down, and if we can get over to the next block we should be safe all the way to the car.” I can’t protect you. I have no way of protecting you. “Go!” Running without looking back we crossed the first intersection, seeing others heading our way, wild-eyed and fearful. At the next street there was an officer nervously beckoning everyone his direction, telling us to quickly get around the corner and that we were probably safe now but to keep moving away from downtown. Shaking and out of breath, we walked rapidly to the car, being passed by an endless stream of emergency vehicles: SWAT, ambulances, fire trucks, police cars from neighboring towns. How many? Well, ALL of them it
...en a strange feeling down his spine again, as if something was breathing on his neck. He turned slowly… seeing if someone was behind him and then boom! The figure was right there, about seven feet away, trying to grab him with his big, skinny, hands, with his sharp and dark fingernails that could rip a man’s heart out… He fell down, so surprised by the strange figure.
He just threw his advise and vanished as if he was an illusion leaving behind one single evidence of his subsistence - the dried goat’s blood over my face. The short man stayed there longer canvassing the blade in his hand by his eyes covered with alternating glimpse of hesitation and clouds of tenaciousness. I stayed on obnubilating in my shelter until he commenced moving away. Subconsciously, I found me propelling myself up and over with the world around me turning upside down. I felt so weak but my enthusiasm kept me persuading this deep wish of following him.
I moved down past the demountables away from the hockey pitch only semi-aware of what was going on around me. Some indifferent person raged past me and clattered to the floor but I was oblivious to it, as though it was far off in the distance, muttered by my innermost consciousness. The sym I was vaguely aware of the fact that I had now left the once favourite place of my life. A deathly cold gust of wind almost swept me off my feet. as it hurried round the corner, intent on reaching its destination.
... ferociousness. Somewhere in the distance I can hear the murder replying with blood thirsty caws. I chose to settle here for the night, deciding that a destination doesn't have to be where you end up but where you've come. With that in mind, I drift slowly into a calm, dreamless sleep. Waking up, I set out again, rejoining the road with a happiness usually reserved for an old friend. Forging on, the sun set in the distance in a glorious firework display of oranges, reds, and purples. A canopy of stars decorated the night sky and the moon shone brightly, almost happily. As I stared down the beaten road, I saw for just one moment the tunnel of black stretching on for eternity. It was then that I realized that I was at my destination, I had found my calling. There is nothing known about where I travel but I faithfully march onwards, bound to walk the road into the dark.
With a slow dawn I remembered. Had I slipped or had he hit me with something? My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I relived the figure advancing towards me. It was dark. The street light that shone from behind the man in the faceless thickset man in the grey hoody ensured anonymity. Now he was coming. How long had I been here? My head ached as I struggled to assess my surroundings.