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Panic Attack

by Jon Jon Stefan

As if she was guided by the tracers of a ghost

she pulled herself forward

and ducked

under shoulders of linen, cotton, noisy fabrics.

She felt, not clearly,

but strongly,

feet stamping behind.

She heard,

not literally,

whirring voices.

Almost like instruments being tuned

before erupting to an audience.

Squeezing her temples between palms,

the crowd made a track for the chase.

They stared at her.

And they only stared at her,

with the fear and disgust she'd hope

for the assailant.

Yet, she couldn't look at herself.

She was

hardly a thing anymore.

When she screamed,

it ran over her thoughts

like white-out.


there was only city street.


there was a woman on her knees.

and then,

a traffic jam resuming.

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