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The first time it happened, I thought I was going crazy, or that I was dead, or that the adrenaline coursing through my veins had altered my perception of everything going on around me, or that my head injury made me see things.  Later on, when I thought back to that moment I stuck to my adrenaline theory. They say when one is in a dangerous situation everything slows down. It made sense, given what had happened. The only way I could describe it was time just seemed to… stop. And I guess that’s what made it easy to get away.

But when I was alone in bed, ready to fall asleep, my thoughts always wandered back to that moment where time seemed to just stop. During the day, where everything was bright and happy and logical, it was easy to dismiss the idea. But at night, where nightmares and monsters came out, when I was alone with my thoughts, I kept going back to it and realized that yes, time did, in fact, stop.

The first time it happened, it went something like this:

***

The fog hung heavily in the cool night air. The street and sidewalk were completely deserted. I shivered, shoving my hands in my pockets, pressing my book to my side. God, it was freezing. I cursed myself for not having worn more than a light cardigan. Even more, I regretted not having called mom to pick me up from the library. But, I was already halfway home… Might as well keep walking. All the shops I passed were closed up for the night. I had only the streetlights to illuminate my path. Each one was a several feet apart, so I was submerged in darkness at intervals. Whenever I came across a patch of darkness I picked up my pace. It was kind of creepy at night, all alone.

Soon enough I came across a playground to my left.  I could go around it, or just cut through it and be home sooner. Not wanting to be outside any longer, I turned left, opting for the shortcut. My Converses made crunching noises on the woodchips that made up the floor of the playground. A skeletal swing set came looming out of the darkness. The seats swung softly in the breeze, making unsettling groaning noises. Maybe this little shortcut wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all.

As if to enforce that, I heard laughter coming from somewhere in the park. Whipping my head in the direction of the noise, I saw a four backlit figures standing by the monkey bars. They were holding bottles in their hands. Probably alcohol. Their drunken conversation floated over to me. I walked faster, the woodchips crunching much too loud with each step.

They didn’t notice me until I walked right by them. I could feel their eyes on me even as I passed them completely. A small chill having nothing to do with the cold ran down my spine.

“Hey,” one of them called out. He was slurring. “Where are you going?”

I was practically jogging by now.

“Hey! We’re talking to you,” another said. To my dismay I heard different sets of footsteps making their way towards me.

Go away, I begged in my head.

I looked behind me. Two of them where right on my tail, swaying slightly as they walked. I turned back around, intending to start really start picking up the pace. Suddenly, two more of them materialized before me. I slammed into one of them and my book fell to the ground; he grabbed my shoulders, steadying me.

“Whoa there,” he smiled lazily. There was an until cigarette dangling from his lips. He had brown hair, and a scruffy looking beard. He had to be in his mid twenties at least. Taking my hands out of my pockets I pushed away from him. My heart was hammering rapidly in my chest now. My hands were shaking as I reached for my discarded book. The man with the beard lunged for it, scooping it up before I was even close to getting it.

“What’s this?” he waved it around.

A book, dumbass. “Give it back,” I said, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be. I kept my eyes down, not wanting to meet their unfocused stares.

“You want it back?” he asked mockingly. “Well what are you willing do to get it back?” Suddenly his mouth was right by my ear and I could smell the reek of booze on his breath. His hand trailed down my shoulder to my waist. My breaths came out quick and choppy.

“What about me?” the husky voice came from behind me. I felt his hand pick up a stand of my long ebony hair and twirl it around his fingers.

Once again I shoved the bearded guy off and backed away from the group, freeing my hair in the process. “Keep it,” I hissed. At least my voice was slightly less terrified sounding. I would rather pay the library for the lost book than argue with those idiots.  They’re just drunk guys being stupid, nothing you can’t handle, I told myself unconvincingly.

I resumed walking—running actually. Before I had taken more than two strides I felt a strong hand grasp my elbow and yank me back with so much force I cried out. The hand let go and I was sent careening to the left. Before I could regain my balance someone pushed me roughly. My head connected with something hard—a bench probably— and a moment later I found myself face down on the ground, my head exploding with pain. A warm liquid pooled and trickled down my head. Little black dots danced across my vision. I tried to push myself up, my arms buckled and I slammed back into the ground. Woodchips stuck to my cheek and hands.

“You’re not going anywhere.” The voice sounded muffled and far away. My head felt heavy.  I began crawling away frantically. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

Tears started flowing freely down my face as one of them flipped me onto my back. I felt them pin down my arms and legs despite my flailing. “No! No! Stop, please!”  I screamed. Panic and fear consumed my entire being.

The one with the beard ripped open my shirt, the buttons popping off and flying in different directions. Then he began fiddling with his belt.

“What about me, Cooper?” shouted the one holding down my right arm, for the second time.

“You’ll get your turn, Jason,” replied the one who was still fiddling with his belt.

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He’s… he’s going to…

“No! Let me go!” I cried and kicked and screamed with all my strength, but it didn’t seem to be enough. “Help! Somebody help!” I shrieked.  Without warning he closed his hand into a fist, lifted it up, and sent it straight onto the side of my mouth. Through the throbbing pain I tasted blood. A sob rattled my body, hot, salty tears streaming down my face onto my lips.

“Shut up! Just shut up.”

He grabbed the waistband of my jeans.

This couldn’t be happening. I wanted everything to just stop. Stop. Stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop.

My voice was hoarse, but I closed my eyes and screamed anyways: “STOP!”

All sound seemed to be sucked away as if by vacuum, instantly. He stopped pulling my jeans down. I no longer felt the resistance that had been holding my limbs down. I was sure I was dead in that moment. I opened my eyes.

My attacker was frozen in place, a mean smile plastered on his face. They all were. Not giving it a second thought, I shook them off and sprinted all the way home. If I was in a right state of mind I would have called the police right then. If I had called the police I would have discovered that my phone didn’t work. And I probably would have paid more attention to the few people I passed on my way home. Had I been paying attention, any whatsoever, I would have noticed that none of them were moving. I would have seen that the few cars I passed weren’t moving either. When I got home, I passed out on the front steps. But, had I knocked, no one would have come to the door. Because they too, were frozen.

Like I said: Time just seemed to… stop.