Terror

Real terror awaits

Terror

This thought, this thing that riots in my skull, perhaps I'll be lucky and discover the awful dread that gnaws on me day and night. The moon is full tonight, so I could become easier prey for the real terror that tracks me, waiting beyond the perimeter, past the tall grass, the brush, that stand of trees, cloaked in shadow and rot, but with enough presence to resurrect within me a whole set of ancient reflexes, ordering a non-existent protrusion at the base of my spine to twitch. My pupils are already dilating, adrenaline flowing, even as instinct commands me to run.
But by then it will already be too late. The distance is far too great to cover. As if there ever really was a place to hide.
At least I'll have a gun.
I'll buy a gun.
Then I'll crouch and I will wait.