Watching My Own Death Live
Language: en
Three in the morning. I was a ghost of myself, dragging my body toward my apartment after another soul-crushing shift at the office. The motion-sensor lights in the stairwell were on their last legs, flickering with a dying, stuttering rhythm. I’d barely cleared the first two steps when I heard it: the heavy, rhythmic thud-thud of footsteps behind me. My heart didn't just beat; it lunged into my throat. I white-knuckled the strap of my laptop bag and bolted upward. The strange thing was, those heavy steps only followed for a flight or two. Then, they stopped. In their place came the sharp,…