The Hunter

The past is a dark and scary place. This I have know for as long as I can remember. I have spent the majority my adult life running from it. I have compartmentalized my memories so efficiently that I am seldom bothered by the thoughts I've put away in the forbidden section of my mind. This allows me to live my life with a sense of normalcy. I go to work, I see friends, I go on dates, I live a normal life. While I'm awake anyway. My dreams are a different story. I've given up them nightmares. They come so often that we've become old friends. It's always the same scenario; I'm being hunted. It's not always in the same place or in the same way, but it is always the same person. He has been hunting me since I was about 6 or 7. I still remember the first time so vividly that it sends chills down my spine. I wish I knew who he was. I wish I could face him head on and tell him to just fucking quite already. But as luck would have it, my subconscious is just not that kind. Apparently allowing me to defend myself is not nearly as fun as tormenting me for 16 years. My hunter must live such a happy life. Getting his fill of chasing me through the ever-changing mazes of my own design. How is it possible for me to be so pathetically helpless in my own mind? How is it possible to be haunted by the same figment of my imagination for more than a decade? These are the questions that invade my thoughts in the aftermath of each dream. On these days, I do not live a normal life. I put myself of auto-pilot and try to decipher the inexplicable.