If you have ideas for new types of projects, please contact ArtsForge . I kept running, even after the footsteps stopped. Even after the shouting traffic and penetrating screams faded away. The blinding memory of that knife, sliding from the stranger's pocket, finally stopped cutting at the edges of my vision. I looked around, leaning against the cold bricks of an alley I had never known was here.
Nothing look familiar.
I felt lost in time. I wanted to retrace my steps, but wondered what might be waiting for me back there. I stepped out into the street, having no idea where I was. The wheels turned with a squeak and a protest. The horses strained against the gluey mud, which refused, like a mother over her first-born son, to release its hold.