The Meek

Word count: 200

No time to hide. I could see their forms moving towards me. Panic. Think, fight? Run? Vomit was finding its' way up my throat, only to be blocked by my heart, full of blood, choking me.

I know they can see me in this tree. When I jump I will run. I won't be fast enough.

They are almost to the tree.

I tear branches from the tree. I will fight. There is no sense in running. My fingers are bleeding now.

Their glossy fur flashes in the moonlight. The night belongs to them. Are they the meek? They inherit the earth?

Survive only to have to live? I am beginning to feel my instinct to live is a curse.

They are on the tree. It's time to jump. My vomit spills on them. They scream in agony. I vomit repeatedly, will this save me?

I jump down, my leg hurts badly. I run to the cave. The hill alive with them, crawling, eight legs each, eight eyes each. I push the boulder into place. I can hear them trying to remove it.

Is it better to die by my own hand or to feel my blood feeding the meek?