Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25150178-20140707151921

Hi all. I am not a writer usually, but I felt inspired to give it a try. This is my first draft of my first attempt at a pasta, and I am open to any and all suggestions. It is still in need of editing, so I am not worried about making changes. Thanks!

It is an ordinary Tuesday morning in August. Warm and humid, but you don’t let that stop you from your daily bike ride through the mountains. As you ride along the trail, something unusual catches your eye. You stop and turn, but the feeling has passed. Naturally, you have not had enough water on this ride, so you shake your head and gulp down a quarter of the bottle. The remainder of the ride passes by normally. Mrs. O’Malley walks briskly by at the one-mile mark, pausing to comment on the weather once again. Mr. Josefson jogs through an intersecting trail with his dog. And Mr. and Mrs. Adams walk a few steps behind their twins, who have recently removed their training wheels. You dismiss that flash of red and yellow as a result of the warmth and a trick of the light from the still rising sun.



After a nice shower, you decide to just sit back and relax for the day. You have no plans as of now. Your parents are away for two weeks on a cruise they have certainly earned, and your little sister is off at sleep-away camp in upstate New York. You are the only one of your friends to have this particular day off of work. You decide to catch up on the sleep you’ve missed with a quick nap. But as you settle in, you have the strange feeling is someone watching you. You know that can’t be real, but something compels you to do a quick spin. And yet another momentary flash of red and yellow, but that was just your Jimi Hendrix poster. Content, you doze off.



''Squeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaak. ''You are awakened by the sound of what could be a loose floorboard. Soon, you are coherent enough to realize the wind is blowing your door open and shut. As you get up to close the window, you notice it is already shut and locked. But your door is still being blown slowly on its rusty hinges. The feelings from the bike ride and just before going to bed creep slowly back into your mind. You’re no twig, but you aren’t exactly The Hulk either. As bravely as you can, you call out, “Is there someone in this house? Leave now and I won’t call the police.” The door blows a little harder, but this time, you can almost hear laughter within the squeak of the hinges. You quickly leave the house and take a walk through the quiet Connecticut neighborhood.



Mr. O’Malley is out in the garden next door and notices your troubled expression behind the mask you have put on to avoid questions. You dismiss it as a bit of a fright from too many late night horror films. He laughs it off and warns you to be mindful of what you put on TV. Is it just you, or did Mr. O’Malley’s eye just flash red? No. You can’t afford to think like that. But that feeling has not left. You know someone-or something-is following your every move. Even the neighbors seem to be looking at you differently, almost as if they are intentionally avoiding talking to you-even looking at you.



There’s no one to talk to about this. Even if someone would listen, everyone is suddenly too busy to take time out of their schedule to listen to a paranoid teenager. As the day drags on, you become slightly more concerned. Everyone has abandoned you. No one will even look at you. And, of course, there remains that ever-present feeling that you are being watched extremely closely by someone who is always just out of view. You finally decide another bike ride will clear your head. As you ride, you begin to feel better. In fact, you feel better to the point that you want to turn around and head back home and order a pizza. Then, the moon seems to turn off.



Time to move fast, you think to yourself. Without even a moment of thought, you ride as fast as you ever have away from the moving shadow. You don’t even look behind you as you hear the terrified screams of Mr. O’Malley and Mrs. Josefson. Their screams only propel you forward as you know for certain that you haven’t been imagining the feeling of being watched.



As you continue riding, you hear the panting of a dog as it nears you. You pedal harder, and gain distance on it. For every second of gaining distance, it makes it up in less time than you can take a breath. Finally, you bike stops working altogether. The tires stop in place and you go flying over the handlebars. Forgetting the bike, you run, hoping the fallen bike will be a distraction.



Something is grabbing at your heels, like a gentle wave approaching the beach, but with the ferocity of an angered mother bear. The panting of a dog is in your ear, teasing you, telling you to keep running and maybe, just maybe you have the chance to get away for good.



<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in">You have run for miles, an ability you have only because you dare not look back, attempting to get as much distance as you can. But, try as you might, you are soon engulfed in the long, ominous shadow. The chase is done. You collapse, unable to move. Finally, you decided to turn around. All you see is a pair of red eyes and a yellow smile, dripping with the saliva from the excitement of the chase. <ac_metadata title="If no one would mind reviewing my first attempt"> </ac_metadata>