The monster within
Think you’re escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.
T'was the night before Christmas,
Or Easter, Whitsun, whenever you like.
It was dark and cold and dreary.
Dark, black night.
For lettered and unlettered alike,
Fearing the roaring of the skies,
Trembling at the dying of the light;
Fear seeped from the miasmic ground.
Wind and the rain alight
Scurrying through the lanes and fields
There was thunder in the air.
She vowed she’d be good, live plain,
Annie dared not turn around,
She dared not breathe too loud, in case
She missed the footfall, the shrieking
In the shroud. Stumbling past the graveyard
A bolt of lightning split the tree and sent her
Stumbling wildly. fearing goblin, ghost and me.
The devil was on the spree.
In the morning her long hair was white
As white can be ......and she....just twenty-three.