A nightmare.

I am sitting on a bench in the park. I am watching my children play on the swings. Up and down. Higher and higher. Backwards and forwards. The sun is out and it is busy and noisy. He comes and sits down beside me. I can feel his shadow on me blocking the warmth of the sun and it makes me shiver. 'Hello friend', he seems to say. But he doesn't use his voice. I can feel his intention in the closeness that he has breathed into my ear. I try not to respond. I concentrate on  the children and the sun and the creaking of the swings. Up and down. Backwards and forwards. He seems miffed at my snub and he shifts nearer. He drapes a long arm of blackness casually behind my back. He brushes his long, icy fingers along my arm. It makes me anxious and I can feel the panic rising inside of me, rushing out of my bones and filling my body with adrenaline. I try and stay focused on the children in the park. The sun has gone behind a cloud now. The swings have slowed down and people seem to be leaving. It is less busy. I want to leave too but I know I cannot. I know that if I move he would jump on my back and I would drag his heaviness about with me. I am too scared to look directly at him. It would be acknowledging his existence. He tries to turn my face by stroking my cheek but I don't flinch. I let the feeling of dread settle on me like toxic ash that I  dare not brush off for fear of doing more harm than good. 'Have this', he whispers as he drapes a cloth of smokey grey over my shoulders. It clings too tightly and I feel suffocated as it moulds to my shape. It pulls me down yet I bear the weight.

The sun has disappeared from the sky. It is dark and also very cold. The park is empty. The swings are swaying gently by themselves. I look for my children but I feel groggy and slow and I cant find them. I can feel my lungs fill sharply with air and then rush to push out that breath and swallow again. As I breathe quickly I am filled with the darkness and the loneliness of the place which has consumed me. It is now a part of me. It has saturated my very being like oil and it drips out of every pore. 'I am always here now', he says. I know this. It is obviously no comfort. He makes a lonely companion.

It starts to rain and as it does I feel a realisation of acceptance fall down too. Fat drops of acquiescence pitter-patter all around me. I haven't the ability to be strong any more. I give in to him and I succumb. I can feel his large, curly smile next to me. He has won. Both players knew he would eventually. It was not a fair fight.

So I sit and I stay. I am not expectant. I am not waiting. I am just still.