I was doing my best to avoid eye-contact with people in the unlikely case that someone I know saw me and wanted to chat. I was in no mood to be social as the day had thoroughly sapped my will to be a real person. Instead, I fixated on one of the beers waiting for me in the fridge at home. At least I was fixated on that, until a woman with short maroon hair began walking towards me on the seawall.
She had a face like a gremlin. It was uncomfortably pale and lined, but didn’t evoke much sympathy. On the contrary, the angry eyes darted back and forth only vaguely recognizing the space around her. She paused her indistinct muttering and thumbskin chewing to spit a wad of yellowy brown mucus onto the sidewalk. If she hadn’t been in broad daylight with plenty of other people around, I’m sure she could find work as a monster in some child’s nightmare. It wouldn’t be a stretch for her to take up residency under a bed or in a dark closet and while some of her features would be easier to cope with in the dark, the gutteral noises and terse wheezes would still do the job nicely.
I changed my trajectory hoping that it was just a coincidence that she was headed in my direction. Perhaps she was just attracted to movement. I slowed slightly, letting myself be overtaken by a pair of joggers who moved directly between myself and the woman. Gremlin-face was undeterred and if anything was moving faster towards me. An insistent prickling sensation started at the base of my neck, crawled across my chest and wound deep into my stomach.
I estimated that I could easily outpace her shambling if it was necessary, but the fact remained that this woman whose vision only vaguely seemed to be working, had trained that vision on me. I didn’t like it. I turned suddenly and began to walk up a path between buildings. Once I was content that she couldn’t see me, I hastened to the end of that path, pausing only momentarily to look back over my shoulder.
Though she wasn’t behind me, I wondered what she could possibly have been after?
Written in response to the prompt Uninspiration.