the shadow fell.

you walked closer, wary; the shadow was still breathing, moving, screaming. there was no knowing if it would rise to charge at you again, the same as it did mere moments ago. you didn't dwell on the possibilities. the shadow writhed and moaned, its claws five inches in the earth, its growls weakening. it was all bark and no bite now, you realised.

it wasn't heroic. you blamed it on the urge to save yourself. you charged at it first.

blood splattered warm on your cheeks. you didn't need to look to see crimson soaking your pristine dress shirt. it wouldn't matter, you were due for laundry day tomorrow. the shadow keened the requiem of a dying soul. its heart ticked a feverish time-bomb staccato in its hairy chest. its feathers fluttered around you a nest of ebony. you tore it apart, snapped its fickle bones, and watched it cry. tar weaved into your hair an angel's tainted wreath. your slicked fingers grappled at the flesh flayed out beneath you, pushed and pulled and pressed and pierced, iron coating your tongue, red in your vision. darkness swam like fish against waterfalls.

the shadow didn't fight back. it peered up at you, imaginary eyes gleefully glinting;

it smirked.

a stray thread of streetlight beamed on its youthful, pretty face. you reeled back, abhorred.

your eyes stared you down from the inky gravel.