It stands before me, hands on hips in a powerful stance.

Its bulky exterior blocks all light from my vision.

Though It feels far away, I sense Its unhurried advance.

I turn to dash away, but no matter where I turn, It is before me.

It advances slower, with no need for rush.

It knows It will win.

It drinks from my fear as though it were the very foundation upon which It feeds.

It is upon me.

It gorges itself on my soul.

It steals oxygen from my diminishing lungs.

My brain is dying.

Breathing is impossible.

No hope exists in my quaint, little heart.

My brain ceases to function.

The eyeballs roll back in my head, never to see light again.

Blood, no longer containing life, spurts from my lips.

Wanting more, It moves on to the next victim.