FEAR
(version nro 2)
They came at night with their torches and weapons, like they always do. Teeth bared, eyes glazed, like they were in heat. Not for sex, but for the hunting of the less-than. Their idea of pleasure, always one-sided.
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.
I sigh and get dressed, head to my front door and open it. Making sure of standing tall, head held high, like a hawk.
Getting out to meet the mob always robs them of the joy of an easy catch of a scared and cowering prey, so they fall silent.
Staring down the leader I declare: “It is not I who is the a monster!”
Deep down I realize: This I will not survive.
Fedizen of the mastodon.art at @ovro@mastodon.art, come say hi.