Nervous Footsteps

The street lamps dimly lit the rain-soaked streets of the small town

in which I live. Terraced houses line each side of the narrow streets

and the sound of raindrops on tiled roofs constantly drum in my ears.

The streets are totally empty, not even the odd car or person breaks

the monotony of the black tarmac. A rusty iron fence surrounds the

small park by the houses and the play area is deserted and broken. The

sky is dark and overcast, with the occasional roll of thunder rumbling

in the distance.

By ten o'clock my shift at the local supermarket is over and I have to

begin the long, mind-numbing walk home. The supermarket car park is

covered in red, yellow and brown leaves from the old trees at the side

of the road and I struggle across the slippery surface until I reach

the dark subway that leads under the main road to the terraces. The

subway walls are covered in graffiti while broken bottles and

cigarette ends line the floor. I always feel slightly nervous when

walking through this subway; its intimidating darkness makes me

uneasy. Emerging from the subway I meet the usual dim glow of street

lamps illuminating the small terraced houses that, to me, signified

safety and protection.

"Empty your pockets!" shouted a gruff voice, as a man jumped out from

the side of the subway exit, "Give me your money or I'll kill you!"

There stood a tall, well built man, dressed in dark, ragged clothes in

an aggressive stance with his fist raised and his other hand in his

pocket. He wore a hooded top concealing most of his face, except his

black rotting teeth and his stubble covered chin. His shoes had holes

and there were cuts and scars o...

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... I was

breathing heavily as I picked up my keys and torn coat, draping it

over my head. I turned towards the street, still in a state of shock

over what had happened and began to take nervous footsteps towards

home.

Soon the nervous footsteps turned to a sprint when I had come to terms

with what had just happened. The street and houses turned to a blur

and somehow I just kept running, all the way to the entrance of my

street, where I had to stop and coordinate myself in order to find my

house. I reached in the pocket of my jacket to retrieve my keys, and

slowly found my way to number 56. The keys had a constant jingle, due

to my hand's vigorous shivering, which also made it hard to get it in

the lock and open the door. After a minute of nervous frustration the

door opened, I jumped in and shut the door behind me.