Hearth

The end of the road is somewhere

Ensnared by thick tendrils of fog

Bird mere trembling shadows
Dimly glimpsed huddled on shrouded branches
Mute in there dread

The offal stench of the bay
Redolent in the reaching fingers
As they grasp damply at my form

Light beams struggle to pierce the pallid air
Like the faulty landing lights of an alien vessel

The rumbling
Muttered breath of cars
Comes as the dim hunger pains
From a pack of velociraptors

The startled screech
Of a truck struggling to stop
As it happens upon a car with no tail lights

Cursing and threats ensue
Oblivious to the lone watcher at the bus stop

My nostrils flare
Tasting the fear and trepidation
Like a shark sensing a drop of blood

The morning is full of menace

And I?

I am right at home

© 2008, Mosquitobyte