They talked. Spoke in some weird English. Words. Nouns and verbs, broken into pieces. Screaming and carrying on like caged zoo animals.

He sat on his bed, listening to the two through the thin wall. High decibels. Screeching. Kicking. Punching. Saying his name out loud.

I know you’re listening, he yelled.  Laughter was heard.Wait till we get our hands on you, Fatty said, with the other one chiming in.

Yeah, Skinny said. Just wait. We have plans for you. One move against us and pow. The two continued laughing and shrieking.

He couldn’t move. Fear gripped him. He’d heard these threats before. Years ago. But now they seemed serious. 

You’re not going anywhere, Fatty said. So. Just stay there. Don’t make us come through this wall. You’ll be sorry, he sang.

Slowly, he got off the bed. Quietly put his shoes on. Tiptoed to the locked door and slowly turned the knob.

You better stay right where you are, Skinny said. You think it’s any better out there? Do you? Do you?

The door creaked a little. He stepped out into the hallway. One foot at a time. He could still hear them raging anger. Just pure hate. He closed the door and ran until he got to the street, where he caught his breath.  Peace had come as he walked among the crowd on 8th Avenue. Feeling he was going somewhere, never to return. He just kept walking.