• A steeped breath.
    My breathing.
    I never knew I could breathe so loud.
    Could it be heard?
    If it could I was done for.
    The dying walls of the dying house had turned up the volume of my short, gasping breathing.
    This wasn’t fair,
    but life was never fair.
    The hot, salty liquid doused my face as I recalled my predicament with lachrymose despair.
    Then a cool hand around my gullet,
    my hiding hole had been found.
    An even colder breath on my skin.
    The wet teeth cut through the flesh on my neck.
    I couldn’t scream.
    There was no time.
    I looked up at the decaying ceiling,
    with mouth agape,
    and then…
    Nothing.