The Death of Courage

"The death of Courage happened long before the death of Me. So long ago I can't remember exactly when. All I know is that it wasn't there for me when I needed it most. But I guess it doesn't matter, in the end."

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The Death of Courage
Nov. 22 / 2005

The night is dead around me.
The last rays of failing daylight have long since faded.
The twisted shadows of the trees throw themselves at the mercy of the light of the moon.
Shades of dark and light are entangled; the lines between reality and illusion are blurred
As the darkened trunks of the trees fly by;
The forest closing in on me
As my feet pound against the ground,
My heart thudding in my ears,
My breath coming in ragged gasps, catching in my throat as my foot catches on a root
Sending me sprawling to the ground.
The blood wells from a long cut in my arm
But I don’t have time to feel the pain
Just yet.
I am running again before I am even up off the ground, scrabbling wildly to catch hold of something, anything, to gain some leverage.
Off again and running blind through the darkened forest I can still sense its presence;
I can feel its eyes raking over me;
Taking its time, enjoying the heady rush of the hunt,
Savouring the terror of its prey as it blindly and foolishly tries to outwit the master at his own game.
I hit the ground for what I know is one time too many for me to leave with my life,
Even though I know somewhere deep in my consciousness that I never would have left these woods alive no matter how quickly I ran.
A pitiful whimper escapes my throat as I clutch my torn forearm, trying in vain to slow the blood that seeps onto the leaves of the forest floor.
I can sense it drawing nearer, closing in on its fallen prey
As I remain motionless, the fear finally immobilizing me.
A pair of pale, glowing yellow eyes loom out of the darkness
And make the hair on the back of my neck rise
As terror wraps around my heart like ribbons of ice,
Draining from me the last warm echoes of the hope I had pitted against hope itself.
I close my eyes on the futile instinct that what I cannot see will not hurt me,
Inhaling the putrid scent of death on its hot breath--drowning me in a haze of utter despair.
And as I cower on the rotting leaves of the midnight forest
Before this monster
My final conscious thought,
As the
[shards of agony]
teeth tear through me,
Is that I wish I was brave enough to
[open my eyes]
watch the end cave in.