Elevation

         I hadn’t climbed a tree, or anything for that matter, in eight years. Not since the day I fell from the very top of the oak in my back yard. It wasn’t that I was afraid of heights; put me on a rollercoaster, strap me in tight, and I’ll have the time of my life. But send me far above the ground with no support, nothing to rely on in case things start heading downward, (literally), and I freeze. Never would I have expected that my life could possibly depend on successfully scaling a tree.

         I don’t have a back yard anymore. No back yard to hold a tree that I could possibly fall out of. The only place I could fall from is my apartment window, which is lined with steel plates, secured by large bolts, removing any chance of an accidental descent. It wasn't going anywhere. Which meant, neither was I.

         I live on the thirteenth floor. Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘Lucky number thirteen.’ Needless to say, a fall from my window would be quite a ways down. A lot of high-rises in this city don’t have a thirteenth floor. Perhaps the owner of my building isn’t as superstitious as most in this city.

         The sound of my shoes clacking against the sidewalk was comforting; the knowing that soon I’d be home, in my apartment, being where I want to be. Soon, I’d be in bed, reading if I didn’t fall asleep immediately. Curiously enough, even though I could hardly keep my eyes open, I had no urge to sleep. Coffee could work. But after spending a six-hour shift in a coffee shop, and being covered in the scent, the mere thought of coffee makes me nauseous. I don’t do energy drinks, either. Something about drinking a liquid that’s made of at least half sugar, I don’t enjoy. Maybe I’m crazy.

         I can’t tell: Am I the only one in this city that enjoys the cold? My coworkers always enter the shop for their shift, noses red, arms crossed in an attempt to keep warm. No “Hello”. Simply, “Where has all the heat gone outside? I want it back.” Every single one of them. I enjoy my walks home, especially during the more frigid months. The barren trees lining the side walk, the dead leaves rustling on the ground below, crunching as I step on piles of them. In retrospect, maybe I am crazy.

         I turn the corner to a well-lit road with one car after another parked at the side. The city seems so barren, so lifeless tonight. It’s a Friday, and though the shop was filled with patrons during my shift, I’ve yet to see one person on the streets on my way home. Not a tourist to approach me and ask, “Which direction is the museum?” No homeless man desperately trying to sell “homemade” newspapers to those who are just passing by. There aren’t any events going on in town lately. Not that I know of. Where is everyone?

         I’m still quite a ways from my place. It’s odd: I walk to and from work all the time. Partially because driving a car in this city is nearly impossible. Besides, parking is never available during my shift hours. The extra exercise doesn’t hurt, either.

         Finally, I spot a man across the street, on the other side, heading in the opposite direction. I cross the cross-walk, seeming to completely look both ways. J-walking is a regular thing here in this city. Citizens really seem to take advantage of “Pedestrians have the right of way”. The sudden relief of seeing another person out here, the familiarity of the city filled with life, causes me to slow my steps. I start to enjoy the crisp, cool wind blowing through the streets and alleyways. I get lost in the weather so quickly, I completely forget the other man, who has crossed the street, and is now heading in my direction.

         I’m completely lost in this weather; I thought I saw a flake or two fall from above. The man had gained some ground, which I was completely unaware of. I seemed to completely tune out the sound of his approaching footsteps. Lucky for me, (maybe not in the long run, but at the moment, it was a lucky break,) the stranger snapped something on the cement. A twig, a pile of wilted leaves. Anything that would crack under a lot of pressure. Whatever the object, it caused me to snap out of my phase. By the time I had glanced over my shoulder to investigate the sound, the man, who was outfitted in a black sweatshirt, was already sprinting towards me. Maybe all the free coffee I had during my shift is about to pay off. A surge of seemingly electricity was sent through my body as I follow suit, sprinting off down the sidewalk. I drop the notebook I was holding in my gloved hands. It was the least of my worries right now.

         I round another corner, this time in the complete opposite direction of my apartment building. Why I did this, I’m not so sure. I must have been too busy evading the man to even have thought about where I was actually heading. Up ahead, I see the town square: a park filled with benches, trees, and wide open spaces. More importantly, there were obstacles.

         The park was bordered by a tall brick wall with elegant, curving metal at the top. Another lucky break: I sprint across the last street, nearly home free. Just as I reach the other side of the street, I hear the horns of two cars blaring past each other, most likely directed to me. I didn’t hear the sound of anything colliding with the car’s hoods, though. I round the corner of the brick wall. I might feel like I’m in the clear, but we all know what happens when characters in horror movies find a false sense of security.

         Trees. There were a lot of trees in this park. I force myself to take one last look back to the entrance of the park. My heart drops to my feet as I see, of course, the hooded man, frantically glancing around, searching for me. He doesn’t show any signs of spotting me, but he starts sprinting in my direction anyways. I’m running out of options. The only other realistic exit I could make is out of the park, back onto the wide open streets, where I could easily be spotted once more. I can’t run forever. I’ve never even entered a marathon. If I did, I know for a fact I wouldn’t last long. I won’t climb one of these trees. Even if my life depends on it. I not a chance. But the idea of exiting the park was growing less and less realistic. I was running out of time, and the hooded man was getting close. Soon, he would find me if I didn’t make up my mind. My face scrunched into a reluctant frown as I sprint to the nearest tree, reaching for a branch and frantically pulling myself up. My legs are already shaking, and my hands begin to do the same. This wasn’t helping me grip the only thing that could possibly save my life.

         I disappear into the leaves above. One branch after another, I head in one simple direction: up. The terror of scaling this tree was adding on to the terror of being chased by a random stranger. All I know is that I’m being followed. And where I was heading, I did plan on meeting anyone there.

         It grows quiet after a couple seconds of clinging to the tree, arms wrapped tightly around. The silence matched the same silence I constantly heard as a child; the silence I experienced when I spent hours a day submerged in that oak tree. The silence I experienced when I wasn’t terrified of being up here.

         Maybe I –am- free, I think to myself. Maybe being chased by an insane hooded man was all it took to force myself to overcome my fear. Yes, that’s all. Being chased is all it took, for me at least. We all have different boundaries. Apparently mine are crossed when being pursued by someone who seems to have the intentions of killing you. I can’t hear anything over the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. I can’t hear the footsteps of the man that could possibly be lingering beneath my hideout, waiting for me to fall, just as I did years ago. Maybe he’ll climb up here as well, forcing me to fall. Well, there’s fear number two potentially realized.

         A couple minutes had passed by; two or three. I assumed he was gone, back on the streets, searching for another pedestrian to terrify. I was sure it was safe to climb down now. I wait another thirty seconds, making sure of myself that I’m not making a mistake that could possibly cost my life.

         Still, not a sound. You know that voice in the back of your head? The one screaming, “Don’t get out!” while you watch a horror film? That voice is blaring in my mind, only the situation couldn’t be any more real. Slowly, I swing my leg over the branch, quietly lowering myself down. The terror of simply being in a tree still remains. I was so eager to find my way out of it. Of course, I can’t come slamming to the ground below. What if he was a little farther than I thought, but still searching? I don’t think I have the energy to keep running. Maybe planting my feet on the ground will do my mind some good. Maybe I’ll find a little more motivation to quickly head home. No, forget walking. I’m calling a cab. Maybe I will buy a car.

         Maybe even a gun.

         If I even make it out of this situation alive in the first place.

         I was ready to get down now. I started getting the familiar feeling I had as a child. It’s safe now. I knew it.

         I couldn’t have been more wrong. Without warning, out of nowhere, a hand gripped my ankle, yanking me from the lowest branch, down to the ground.

         I was so close. So, so very close.

         What happened after that, I don’t remember. It all went black. I must have landed wrong. Landed on my head, hit my head on a rock, anything. He could have beaten me to unconsciousness for all I know.