The Light on the Trail

The bus dropped me at the edge of the park. I walked past the empty playground, the swings still moving a little in the dark. The bike trail started where the streetlights ended. My bike had been stolen two days before. It was the only thing I had that still felt like mine. I didn’t have a light, but I knew the trail by heart. The trees closed in around me. My breath came fast, but I kept walking. I needed that bike back. It was the last piece of something I could still hold onto. The trail curved, and the sound of the creek grew louder. Then I saw it—a flash of light ahead, cutting through the dark. It swung toward me, blinding. I stopped. The light stayed on my face. I couldn’t see who was holding it. A hand reached out. I tried to step back, but the grip was tight. He pulled me off the trail, dragging me toward the water. I fought, but his weight was too much. The creek rushed beside us. I felt the cold of the blade before I saw it. He pressed it against my side. I screamed. The sound tore out of me, raw and loud. He didn’t let go.