Nothing is more deadly than a deserted, waiting street. Marisol knew this. She knew this as she gazed down the darkened road, waiting for something or other to burst from the bushes and whisk her away into the night. She was old enough not to fear the dark; she knew this too. But who could really blame her when the leaves looked like claws, and the branches threatened to push her into the dirt? The judgment of those she knew were right inside their doorways watching her was suffocating. It was 1 AM, not a popular time for that kind of activity, but she knew. They were watching her and waiting for her to fail. The clock, settled into the highest point of the church tower, struck 2. Marisol blinked- had she really been standing there for an hour? The act of putting one foot down and beginning the journey down the street seemed as alien as doing so on the moon. She'd done it before, maybe not at this time of night, but the dangers must've been present then, too. How had she not noticed them? This inconsistency in her worries flashed red for a moment, before she dismissed it again and refocused on the task at hand.

Little by little, Marisol lifted her left foot. Just put it down, just put it down, she told herself. Without even being aware of it, her belief in her ability plummeted with every second that passed. Finally, what seemed like years later, she took a step. 

Inch by inch, Marisol made her way down that accursed road. All of her mental energy was set on not tripping, not faltering, not breathing. Her fears didn't abate, not for one second. They piled on like sand at the bottom of an undiscovered ocean. They weighed her down, pouring concrete into her shoes and ice water down her neck. The owls and vultures gazed down at her from the trees. Their shadowy forms drifted out of sight every time she thought she had them pinpointed. Marisol, they called, Marisol. She dared not answer. The adrenaline coursing through her veins only helped her feel more susceptible to the subtle movements of the ground below her. Had the Earth always conspired to make her stumble? Either way, it was doing so then. The pebbles beneath her toes swelled to boulders. Marisol was navigating a dangerous garden of stone with every step and wishing with every fiber of her being that all of it would fade to black and she'd wake up safe and alone once again. 

But it was not to be. This fear was real; this fear was forever. The buildings grew just as the rocks had. They added to her already palpable feeling of insignificance. There was a brief moment in which she wondered why I have thoughts, why do I have opinions, if I matter so little? And then the moment stretched to an hour and a day, and the thought was intrinsically embedded in her mind. Slowly, the darkness chipped away at her identity. It boiled down to don't trip, don't falter, don't fail, Marisol. And she didn't. For now. 

She was approaching the end. Marisol knew it, but even more than that, she felt it. The ground beneath her steadied. It stopped fighting her and agreed that no fault was going to be made by her, at least tonight. The leaves ceased their whirlwind of hatred and began rustling quietly, almost silently. For Marisol, though, the background noise was just as bad as the roaring screams there had been before. They hated her anyway. Her fear, ever-present, did not abate completely with the silencing of the world around her. But it did fade, ever so slightly. The noose of terror around Marisol's neck lessened, as did the inky black darkness around her. The calmer she felt, the more luster returned to the world. The pace of her footsteps quickened. The joy of freedom overtook her, and she started to run. The absence of panic was an elixir. For a moment, she felt like no one but herself.

And then, as her shoe- the color of the night sky after it rains- caught upon a boulder that used to be a pebble, Marisol fell. Her elbows and wrists connected with the dust below her, and she fell. The fear that had faded into nothing but a thought surged forward, the thin divide in her consciousness broken like a shard of glass. The monsters in her mind were real once again; they were screaming at her to run, to hide, to act like the scared animal she was. All parts of her being were sure that people would rush out of their homes and laugh at her and jeer at her and take her away. Marisol was sure they had been waiting for this moment, even though a second ago she hadn't thought so. As she lay in the dirt, looking down at her hands, she waited. And she waited. She waited for this terror that was just out of sight at all times. She waited.

And then Marisol lifted her head, and saw that it was morning and the only thing laughing was a bird, caught in the joy of the rays of sun.