I remember the stain on my shirt

I remember the stain on my shirt. Was it blood or was it just dirt. Was it the cherry lips from the last time I flirted. Or was it cranberry sauce from last thanksgiving. Was it the last time when I was carelessly walking. Down the street of Jehovah, alone with no witness. Casually strolling cross street lights repeatedly. Pace at a steady weight, like the autumn leaves slowly trickling. I hear a long whistle ringing in my left ear. From the right side of the bushes, striking some fear into the chest as I feel my heart beat hasten. Why do I hear rings over and over. Was it an assassin trying for murder. Was it the cardcaptor changing gears behind the bushes. Was it a trap or was I just fooling myself. Or was I just beat and need a rest inside my shell. I paced up my steps as I move past all the bulbs of grounded green trees, leading me straight home like a green carpet for the druids. Praying that I’d be safe, cause when it’s knives, I ain’t no ace. I’d be rat-a-tat-tat in 3 seconds no cap. I hit up my front door, the bronze handle never felt so good. Even when it’s ice cold, I shook it as fast as I could. And as the door open, I quickly put my foot in. That’s when Sara started whistling, signaling for the next step as she grab my dress shirt and gave a little kiss. I guess I could hear the whistle coming, before I flew in.