Relentless

Things have been rather colder and perhaps even more darker on Park Row of late.

I warm my hands, and reach into my coat for my light. A sudden draft kicks against me, just as I spin the wheel of the lighter. The cigarette catches anyway, and I let the flame dance for a second longer than necessary. The cold is not new to me, but its constant presence is never something one can ever be fully accustomed to. It is a like a disease; manageable, and yet deadly.

The embers are a poor source of light, yet my eyes have adjusted enough to read the dial on my wrist. It's almost time.

I look up suddenly, as a subtle movement in the shadows catches my attention. When everything is still, the slightest move is like a gunshot in a tomb.

I lie still, pressing myself against the wall, fingering the peeling plaster of a dilapidated building behind me as my eyes scan the darkness. Tense; I feel my chest harden as my breathing automatically slows and softens.

I wait.

And I wait.

The cigarette has long been extinguished, and there is total darkness now as my eyes scan the shadows.

Something is there. I can feel it.

They say patience is a virtue. This isn't patience though. This is being relentless. This is survival.

Slowly my limbs show the first signs of going numb. I don't move.

A chill breeze picks up, cutting through my clothes like a knife. Still, I don't move, for I feel a much deeper chill that is threatening to run down my spine.

"I will outlast you"; I think to myself.

And then -

I see it.

Slowly, it moves up the alley opposite with surprising stealth, almost floating along, not leaving a sound. If I hadn't been looking straight at it, I may not have seen it.

"But I was looking for you, you bastard"; I tell myself.

I feel the tinges of a smile spread across my lips.

"I've got you now."

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Just a graphical representation of my state of mind at the moment. Make of it what you will.