Gone

The wind blows
A rustle of the bushes
She hurries down the street, almost running.
Though she doesn't know who she is fleeing from
Or where she is going, she's still afraid.
she slows her pace,
Chastising herself for being ridiculous,
Knowing there is nothing to be afraid of.
The wind blows,
More rustling leaves,
And she flees.
Realizing that her fears are irrational
She stops and turns
To see who or what is stalking her.
Seeing movement in the bushes
She walks toward them,
Ready to face her fears so she can continue on her way.
As she parts the branches
A look of horror crosses her face
Then she is swallowed into the center of the bushes
Into an unending abyss
Gone.