I dreamt of a concrete apartment in a concrete project on the edge of a concrete city. Every day I would run down a flight of stairs while it was still dark out and walk to the bus stop for school. There was a redheaded man who stood under the stoplight next to the bench and flipped his knife systematically. One day, he told me that when I turned 18, he would kill me, and if I breathed a word, I was as good as dead. He told me to enjoy the time I had left. Every day he reminded me of this. The precious years passed like a time lapse, and I never recalled a single moment except for the man’s daily threat. The morning of my 18th birthday, the man threw his knife at me- but I caught it. I caught it like I stopped time and picked it from the air… and I ran to the police. They put him in handcuffs and placed sympathetic hands on his face as he trudged away. The next morning at the bus stop, I saw the man, just staring at the ground. My heart began to pound, as I feared for my life, but he simply looked up and showed me his face. It looked so pained, like the sight of me caused him such deep sorrow for the world. Then, he walked away. My bus never came.
