I walk down the street and eyes follow me everywhere. Every step that I take is reinforced by
a blink or a wink that passes from man to man thinking that they are praising me with their
leers and smirks. Unashamed among the footsteps of the ants, blindly tracking the curves in
my figure, mapping myself in front of themselves, placing their claws on my neck taking me
into a clouded haze where I only drown lower and deeper until I disappear. I walk down the
street where cars are growling and fires are burning brightly, feeling their eyes clinging to
me. They are echoing deafeningly, beating until everything else disappears.
In a trapped maze trying to make my way through and I feel impatient dirty fingers slide
down my support. Quick prodding poking, hurried desperate invasion that stops me in my
tracks for a second but they have disappeared already. I walk down the street only to be
explored by unwanted surveyors that I cannot grasp in retaliation. I walk down the street only
to be harassed by cowardice and desperation that I definitely don't need walking down with
me.
Sarah Dara is a writer, freelance journalist and creative writing instructor from Karachi. She holds an MA in Creative Writing and is published in the Herald, Himal Southasian, Literally Stories and more. She loves cats, deep conversations and travelling. She sometimes posts on http://dees-everysilverlining.blogspot.com/ or https://www.instagram.com/theoccasionalwhim/. On Twitter: @Sdara94.