Fear
They came at night with their torches and weapons, like they always do. Teeth bared, eyes glazed, in heat for the hunting of the less-than. Nostrils flaring for the scent of fear, intoxicated by it.
Not my fear. Theirs. Fear of the Other. Of change.
Somewhere, faintly, fear of doing the wrong thing, of being found out, shamed. Of what they see of themselves in me.
Getting out to meet the mob robs them the joy of catch and they fall silent. Staring down the leader I deckare: “I am not a monster.”
This I will not survive.
#MicroFiction #TootFic #ShortHorror
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