Nervous Footsteps

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The street lamps dimly lit the rain-soaked streets of the small town in which I live. Terraced houses line each side of the narrow streets and the sound of raindrops on tiled roofs constantly drum in my ears. The streets are totally empty, not even the odd car or person breaks the monotony of the black tarmac. A rusty iron fence surrounds the small park by the houses and the play area is deserted and broken. The sky is dark and overcast, with the occasional roll of thunder rumbling in the distance. By ten o'clock my shift at the local supermarket is over and I have to begin the long, mind-numbing walk home. The supermarket car park is covered in red, yellow and brown leaves from the old trees at the side of the road and I struggle across the slippery surface until I reach the dark subway that leads under the main road to the terraces. The subway walls are covered in graffiti while broken bottles and cigarette ends line the floor. I always feel slightly nervous when walking through this subway; its intimidating darkness makes me uneasy. Emerging from the subway I meet the usual dim glow of street lamps illuminating the small terraced houses that, to me, signified safety and protection. "Empty your pockets!" shouted a gruff voice, as a man jumped out from the side of the subway exit, "Give me your money or I'll kill you!" There stood a tall, well built man, dressed in dark, ragged clothes in an aggressive stance with his fist raised and his other hand in his pocket. He wore a hooded top concealing most of his face, except his black rotting teeth and his stubble covered chin. His shoes had holes and there were cuts and scars o... ... middle of paper ... ... I was breathing heavily as I picked up my keys and torn coat, draping it over my head. I turned towards the street, still in a state of shock over what had happened and began to take nervous footsteps towards home. Soon the nervous footsteps turned to a sprint when I had come to terms with what had just happened. The street and houses turned to a blur and somehow I just kept running, all the way to the entrance of my street, where I had to stop and coordinate myself in order to find my house. I reached in the pocket of my jacket to retrieve my keys, and slowly found my way to number 56. The keys had a constant jingle, due to my hand's vigorous shivering, which also made it hard to get it in the lock and open the door. After a minute of nervous frustration the door opened, I jumped in and shut the door behind me.

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