Nocturnal Lullaby

     I hunched over a wicker table.  Beyond the flimsy walls wilderness equipped itself with animations from hell, if such an infernal dimension existed.  They moved with the shadows, possessed the vast forest beyond and anything else weakened by mortality, but were capable of so much more.  Such an inescapable malady provided reality with junctions where death paraded.  It wore assorted disguises, spoke a variety of language and discriminated against none.

      My shoulders rounded and I flexed my spine.  Laying aside my pen I stared at the words scribbled across wrinkled parchment.  Under soft candle light the black ink appeared foreign as my vision doubled. I rubbed my eyes and then shifted my gaze.  Between wooden planks affixed to every window I caught glimpses of stars embroidered across a navy firmament.   Was death an illusion or was it a magic not meant for understanding?

      I wish I knew how to comfort my own variety of horrors. My mind is its own worst enemy after all. I can do nothing to change this and perhaps someday I will cease the desire to change it. Anything can happen. I have learned this much.

     Now my time on this planet has come to a rather unfortunate end and I must finish this before they begin their torture.  If any part of me is left I shall be unrecognizable, but know that I have not died in vain.  My death will simply propel the mystery and bring others much more experienced.  Then one day this can all end.