This time he is going to get me.
I am sitting on a stool in my dilapidated room.
The window to my left is broken and the folding shutters are old and shabby.
The dark light of the night peeks through them.
I am getting tired of all this waiting.
My breath is going heavily.
He is here.
My arms feel drained as I rest them on my worn trousers.
My head seems light, but still full of thoughts.
Will it hurt?
He is here.
My head feels heavier than ever before as I put it into my shaking, cold hands.
The hands that have worked so much and that have kept me alive until now.
That helped me to hide and to provide anything that kept life going.
He is here.
I put my elbows on my torn trousers and wait for him in the oppressive silence.
I can feel him.
My heart jumps and my legs start to tremble, which forces the ancient wooden boards underneath my stool to groan.
He is here.
I remember them, their love, their life.
They died, I survived.
Will I see them again?
He is here.
I know it.
I feel it too, in my chest, where my heart should be racing, but instead is losing its strong beat with every breath I take.
I have escaped him too often, but now it is over.
He is here.
My pulse is roaring in my head.
My blood feels cold, flowing through my rigid body.
He is here. Escape is impossible.
I fight no more, resist no more.
He is everywhere, surrounding me, taking me into his wide shadowy arms of eternal darkness.