*Author's note* Italics are like an echo, repeating the last few words of the last line.
Staring into the cold, dark night,
I see something coming.
Something coming.
I squint harder, into the fog,
I rub my arms, hairs standing on end.
Hairs standing on end.
I wonder, what is that, standing over there?
It moves and creeps up towards me silently.
Towards me silently.
Still not knowing, I walk farther up.
And I see it, clearly.
See it clearly.
Stumbling, I take steps back,
Retreating into the dark.
Into the dark.
It advances forward, snarling in whispers.
It knows I am here.
Knows I am here.
I turn around to run, but not quick enough.
The shadow jumps through the foggy air.
Through the foggy air.
It ccomes upon me, forcing me to the ground.
I utter one last cry.
One last cry.
The shadow consumes me, baring its fangs.
I stare into Death’s red eyes.
Death’s red eyes.
“No,” I whisper, and wiggle myself free.
Death will not take me.
Will not take me.
I am sick of sleeping in hospital beds;
Tired of being fed through a tube.
Fed through a tube.
The sickness cannot reach me.
Cancer cannot get a grip onto me.
Grip onto me.
I will fight back.
It will not win.
Will not win.
