Flying Backwards
A pretty, petite, brunette of about seventeen years old hitched the right strap of her unnecessarily heavy backpack over her shoulder and slammed the locker door shut. She began walking at a steady but quick pace towards the end of the dreary hallway. Freedom was only on the other side of the door. Thank god she didn't have a last block class.
She slammed into the heavy grey door hard to push it open. As the sunlight and fresh air filtered through the widening gap, the girl realized she had almost hit someone.
A tall, over dressed man in dark jeans and an overcoat stood just to the left of the space where the door opened into.
"I'm sorry," the girl apologized. But the man didn't reply. He simply stood and watched her hurry down the steps and across the street to the sidewalk.
She could feel his eyes on her back until she turned the corner. Creep she thought, and let relief wash over her as she gained distance from the school.
Two blocks later she had slowed her pace. Her eyes darted quickly around, but not nervously. She was taking in the neighborhood. The houses were familiar to Felicity, but from a young age she had always been one to notice small details. Her mother said it was her artist's eye, but the girl knew better.
As she tuned her ears in to listen to the birds, the girl noticed a familiar sound. But it wasn't chirping. It was footsteps. Some one was following her.
Carefully, the girl turned her head, just enough to peer out of the corner of her left eye. It was the man from the door at school. He noticed her looking, and began to quicken his pace.
"Fuck," She muttered under her breath. Dropping her backpack, the girl darted behind a thick oak. The man ran, but when he caught up to her backpack and came around the tree, there was nothing. The girl was gone.