Footsteps, a Short Story
"Hey baby, where are you going?" growled a deep voice.
Tammy resisted the instinct to turn around and walked faster.
"Just keep moving and he'll go away. Just keep moving."
She was now hyperaware of her surroundings. The man's quickening footsteps. The cool but smoggy air whoosing in and out of her lungs. Her heartbeat speeding up. The clacking noise her heels made upon the sidewalk.
Her eyes darted left. The store window reflected a woman in her late 40's, blonde hair fading.
"C'mon, baby, turn around."
The voice sounded much closer. Tammy's hands began to shake.
What could he want with her? She was old and plain, not young and pretty. She wore a thick turtleneck and long, worn jeans, not a low-cut top and a miniskirt. She wore thick glasses, hiding her blue eyes.
She dropped her purse behind her and continued.
Let that be all he wanted this time.
She still refused to look back, tears now streaming down her face.
"Go away. Please just go away."
A hand fell on her shoulder. She screamed and flipped around, fist swinging.
Her hand passed through empty air. She spun around, desparately searching for the man.
The street around her was empty except for flickering streetlights and rusted signs.