Foster Street

This was first written by me as a poem. I decided to expand it into flash fiction, and because I suffer from detail distress, I am hoping for feedback from fellow writers before I move on to the conclusion. All critique is welcome.

Foster Street

I stood at the top of Foster Street peering into the darkness from beneath the yellowish glow of a street light. Lofty oak trees aligned both sides of the street arousing elongated shadows broken by three antique street lamps whose light could not penetrate more than a few feet of the darkness.Colonial houses crouched beyond the trees. Stone pillars composed shadows along their verandas marred by black wrought iron benches or ash grey rocking chairs from L. L. Bean.

Mist rose from the Ohio River just at the tree line giving the air a swampy thickness, smothering sirens, and the hum of interstate traffic. Secure in that tree line, deep in hollow of shadow and foliage, was the cul-de-sac where my house sat. Sanctity was there. All I had to do was move forward. Yet, I stood there as my eyes searched those shadows for the Bogey Man.

It was the dream that I saw in my perusal of the shadows; a reoccurring nightmare that has followed me since childhood. At the dreams inception I drift into darkness until I tumble into a colossal painting of geometric shapes and vivid colors. I want to touch them, to feel every bump, run my fingers over every curve. But the shapes are evasive as I reach out to emptiness. It becomes a game. My laughter resonates against triangles of a dozen different hues of blue.

Then he is there, watching from the darkness. Fear chokes the laughter, and I turn and run. I can hear the tip tap of his leather soles against the pavement as he comes for me. His sporadic mumbling... love you, you stupid cunt... floss with your tendons as I devour your libido, were mixed with bits of spittle muffling the cadence of his words. I stumble, and fall, tearing skin as I skid across the pavement on hands and knees. He passes by me, and into the murk leaving me hunched there shamed, and relieved. I awaken out of breath, and sore of limb. A melancholy remains that takes days to dispel.

I look to the shadows swaying with my movements as I step onto the sidewalk, and out of the light. The trees that lined the sidewalk were close. Their low hanging branches reach out with gnarled fingers to snag my hair or stab at my skin. Neither traffic light nor headlight can be seen through the foliage in any direction. I was alienated.

The clank of a chain link fence resonated behind me. I turned to peer up the street. I saw nothing. "One, two, three. Someone is watching me," I whispered. The litany was remembered from childhood. I ran down this same street many times as a child with the terror of the nightmare chasing me home in the waning light.