Soph Gibson


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Message to Readers

A small, slightly spooky piece, I wrote for fun. I may continue this, but in the meantime, please, get it out there!

This Isn't Me

April 12, 2015



I couldn’t feel the cobblestones that pierced my flesh, creating fresh scars across the soles of my feet. As I slipped from shadow to shadow, narrowly missing the patches of light that flickered from light bulbs in lamps littered along the street, I didn’t dare to look back. I knew what I was to see, but I didn’t want to believe this was real. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t me. I shuddered at the thought and shrugged my worn coat over my shoulders, rubbing my hands against the patches of ripped cloth I had used to repair it. I carefully placed my hands in my pockets, my feet never ceasing its rapid and involuntary movement, and felt the tips my fingers graze the rough, serrated edges of scrunched paper. Scrunched paper, long forgotten, holding mindless thoughts.

Losing control, I peered gingerly into the darkness behind me. My breathing, unnerving and unwanted, as they broke the eerie silence.

"You came," a threatening voice, echoed into my thoughts. I whipped around, to see a cluster of cloaked figures blocking the street. I tucked my head into my hood, obscuring them from judging eyes. I hoped, in the gloom, they couldn't see. They couldn't see my arms shaking. They couldn't see my lips trembling. They couldn't know that I was regretting, second-guessing, doubting, my lies. What if they found out? What if they knew? What if they took me to That Place and left me? There was no turning around now, no backing out. And I knew I couldn't survive without their help.

I reached into the pocket again, and as my fingers searched, my eyes wandered anxiously over the ground in front of me. They finally met cold, harsh metal and I tightened my fingers around the object. Removing my eyes from the cobblestones, I retracted my hand and held it vulnerably towards them.

"Here," I said, frightened out of my wits. No, this isn't me.


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