Others look at me strangely now. I can tell from the looks on their faces that they don't feel it. They don't feel the darkness. They don't believe me when I tell them that it's there. That it's lurking behind each and every one of them. That one day, it will grab them. It will take them when they least expect it.
I'm the only one who sees it. Or rather, I'm the only one who senses it. It can't be seen, or else it wouldn't be dangerous. No, it's good at hiding.
I can only stare now at the white walls. I don't know where I am, and I don't care. I can only focus on it. Because if I stay constantly conscious of it, then maybe I can evade it. I will know when it strikes. Then I can outrun it.
They visit me often, those people. They talk to me; they try to get me to talk back. I ignore them in favor of it. I can see the desperation in their eyes.
One day, they come yet again. They come, just like any other day. But this time, as they talk with me, I can see a different look in their eyes. I can see that the sorrow is still there. But now I can see the look of pity as well. And in the back of my mind, hate flares up quickly. I stop running for just that moment. And then it strikes.
I fall to the floor, writhing in pain. The others drop down next to me. I ignore them. I had already given them too much of my attention. Now I was caught. I had let my guard down. As the world goes dark around me, I can only think that I should keep on running. But it was too late now.
It was too late to run.