I was chatting with some people in Migrating Coconut Films and we were doing an improvisation writing contest. Well I Wrote this...

I hop across the tops of the many cars loitering this concrete jungle... People stare at me as if Im a freak... They don't see what I see. I slip as one of the cars begins to move I hold on to it for dear life. The driver realizes Im on and slings me off to the side. I fall to the ground. I hear the barking. People are being bumped by what they think is either the person beside them or them losing their balance. I see whats really there. I get up as quick as I can. I begin running knocking people out of my way. People scream at me. I come to the end of the sidewalk. I almost am hit by a taxi. I turn left quickly and run through more people. I see my doorway. I run and can hear the barking behind me. A guy comes out of the shadows as if to mug me, or maybe ask for money. Next thing I know he is on the ground, his face is bleeding. It seems as if someone had kicked him. It doesn't matter I keep running. I find my doorway I kick the door open. I hurry to the kitchen and look through all the cabinets. I find it. Salt. I hurry and line the windows with it. Then proceed quickly to the door. I hear the barking louder. I close it. The door feels like it is being hit, actually scratched at by a giant dog. I do quickly to line the bottom quickly with an unbroken seal of salt. The barking and scratching stop. I fall to the ground beside the door and sit against the wall... I just escaped my 56th hellhound... I think. You lose count when you've actually been dead for 5 years.

Tell me what you think.