Stop

You fall out of bed onto the wooden floor and under the bed there is just enough shadow to detect those flashing eyes, that insincere smile, that mask-like face.  It scratches you.  Spits at you.  Hisses at you.  Laughs at you.  You stupid child.  This is not real.  Says Clown. 

But you run anyway.  Run from the house, down the street to that place your mother tells you never to go.  To the place where you meet your imaginary friends and play in the dirt, behind disintegrating fences that no longer hide disintegrating lives.  You've heard them, screaming, screeching, beseeching.  Stop! 

Continue. Tip-toe to the place where X marks the spot, this spot right here where you will play a different game.  The one that makes Clown smile and you cry.  The one where you think maybe you might die.  But you don't. 

You just think: I shouldn't be doing this. 

Why does Clown smile as he cries and cry as he smiles?  Why Does Clown Do That?  Stop!

74 steps back to your front door, and you run as the wind whips through your hair, yet you seem to be moving in  g o - s l o w  m o t i o n  and you can't move your feet as you think you should.  And you wonder: why does Clown do that? 

And he whispers: I shouldn't be doing this.