Inside, outside, there’s no escape. Everywhere I look. I’m surrounded.

Who to trust? Suspicion consumes me. Where can I go, to feel safe?

I turn down an alley, hardly able to breath. Pushing myself into a doorway where no-one can see me.

But there is still someone watching. I still feel consumed by terror.

Who can it be? Where are they?

Then, a realisation. Me. I’m the observer, the follower, the spy.

Who to trust? Trust no-one.

Doubt all, even self.

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© Neil Hayes and neilhayeswriter