Walls in many forms. Doors of many rooms. Floors to stand upon. Running to hide. Till you are found. Thinking the chance not being found. Your heart is racing. Hope is building. They will not find me. Don’t breathe too loud. They will hear. Quiet you will be. The sound of steps seem to be getting closer. Slowly you try to move, no sounds will you make. Still steps get closer. So clear they become. Suddenly they see you. And you look up with fright. Think ing should you run and hide again.
Written by Victoria A Witt ( 2016 )