THAT THING

 What is that thing that follows you?

From morning to night,

From dusk to light?

That Thing,

Like a foreboding shadow,

A shadow that brings terror and fright,

Threatening to engulf the sunlight,

That Thing,

Like the cloak of darkness,

That comes with the frosty night,

Hiding everything nice from sight.

That Thing,

Like the screen of gold,

That hides the darkness and pity

Of the dying leaves in autumn,

That Thing.

However fast you run,

It clings to your hide,

Sinking in ghostly teeth and claws of mist,

However well you hide,

It will track you down,

Sniff you out from the crowd,

Like a wolf stalking its prey.

That Thing,

That thing that is so familiar with you,

And knows you so well,

Yet you know nothing.

You start to wonder,

Whether That Thing is your guardian angel,

A talisman against evil,

Or perhaps That Thing is the evil,

Waiting, biding its time,

To find the place to strike you down.

That Thing.

Maybe it is all your fault?

Perhaps it was kind and good,

Gentle,

Like a drifting feather on the breeze,

But it turned sour, rotten,

Grown with hate and anger,

With age, with deeds,

Like a crackling fire,

Higher, and higher,

Until there is no chance,

For you to run or to hide.

And That Thing has caught up with you,

At last.

It creeps behind you,

Breathing,

Sour, shallow breaths down your neck.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up,

And sweat trickles down your brow.

Your life flashes before your eyes

In a split second.

Your consciousness has caught up with you.

At last.

(Emma Dimitrova,  12 year old, 17/10/20)