WHat a NigHtMaRe

Standard

 

Night Sweats

 

I meet him in a meadow. Once,

often twice a year. He is familiar

now, like a teddy bear from childhood,

forgotten until you see its withered fur again.

 

Darkness. Only a shadow, his face

never been seen. Tall, waist-length grass

surrounds us. Staring at the silhouette

of one another. He lifts the mechanical

 

blade. The motor starts, smoke clouds. I run,

run from the high pitch scream of the chainsaw.

Meadow turns to forest. Trunks to hide

but roots to trip over. The roar

 

is deafening. Exhaust fills my nose,

I choke, gag. Hot breath rests

on the back of my neck. I turn

and I wake.

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