He's following me. 

The man with the white furry rabbit mask was stumbling closer, mirroring every step, every turn I made, getting closer and closer. That sensation of being hunted seeps under your clothes, through your skin reaching the jam of your bone marrow if you’re not careful. 

A wolf whistle sliced through my ears.

“Sage. It's rude to ignore people you know,” he slurred, the alcohol smoothing the edges of his words, no longer coherent.

How did he know my name?—Every one of the fuzzy hairs on the nape of my neck began to prickle with primal fear, pinging to full attention, my heart banging a hard rhythmic thud that told me to;

run,

run,

run,

run.

I was still a good twenty-minute walk from home, and that was if I were to run. My phone a frozen brick at the bottom of my bag.

“Cat got your tongue?” he said—walking an invisible tightrope, holding onto the can in a death grip—“Come here a sec, got something for ya.”

Ignoring his invitation to snap around, and bite, I gave the middle finger and continued walking, quickening my pace, and crossed the street, hoping a van would plough him into the pavement like the dead pigeon I had just stepped over.

Ducking into the nearest convenience store, fuzzy neon light stained my skin with a halogenic glow. Hot air nudged my curtain fringe, messing up my scarf.

My panic faltered a little, if the creep decided to do anything, to say something out of line, there would be security, and on camera. The cashier was oblivious, stuck in a death scroll on her phone, her thumb working overtime to refresh that sweet dose of serotonin. They say, just like a herd of tightly packed caribou, there's usually safety in numbers but in the half-empty grocery store, I still felt exposed.

Mr. Rabbit had sulked off to find more booze, and my plan to ditch him was interfered with. I needed to know who he was and why he knew my name. I don't know anyone with the same name around here, and he was adamant he knew me.

Stalking the aisles for him, I had to figure it out, I needed an answer. His floppy ears crested the tops of aisles, knocking into shelves; a dirty pig dressed as a bunny.

Turning down the small freezer aisle, under the 2-for-1 banner. Watching his set of swaying; rocking with laughter at his sad jokes. 

“You're not usually this shy,” he said, catching me staring, pitying him.

“You’re a pig.”

He reeled off a stream of details about my personal life, savouring the intimate nothing that I hadn’t disclosed to anyone, and suddenly the strange voice messages, letters, and endless calls from numbers I didn’t recognise made sense. It was all him. My skin crawled with anger, a rage so severe I almost cracked my molars. 

“Who are you?” Searching for a clue in the eye holes of his mask. He didn’t answer me. 

“What are you gonna do? You’re just a creep with no one, and no life.”

Mr. Rabbit didn't like that I stood my ground, he didn't like strong women pressing him for answers and laughed at his pathetic life so, he pulled a knife from the pocket of his hoodie, taunting me with the wide blade like it was a game of cat and mouse. The contents of the bar still swimming the backstroke through his bloodstream, prohibiting even the most basic of movements; sluggish.

Grabbing a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, I swung around, aiming for his crotch. He was too drunk to see the bag flying toward him, and tumbled back into the freezer, falling like Jenga. The knife slid across the bubblegum print floor. 

I didn't even hesitate. 

Plunging the knife deep into his chest, somewhere below the v in his t-shirt, cracking the sternum like a turkey wishbone at Thanksgiving. He screamed, so I struck again. I don't know what came over me, call it revenge, anguish? Maybe a little masochism- I'm not picky but I know it felt good, really good.

His t-shirt had risen, showing off his stomach, so I accepted the invitation and drew a wide smile from left to right. He spluttered, and choked for air; the knife cutting the cord that programmed his body rendered him motionless. Maskless, he called for help, wasting his last gulps of air.

Thick ropes of purple entrails spilled out of his hairy belly. Each pull unravelled another few feet of lukewarm intestine. His face froze in that awkward stance somewhere between shock, and caricature. I strung them around the aisle like crude Halloween bunting, 

The collective screams from customers and the cashier provided the perfect track to dance the waltz with my fleshy boa; dipping to the drones of alarms, the cop flashes, becoming my disco lights.