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Like old war spies,

I try and be alert.

The bed is left broken,

Still not quite the same still.

Another sleepless night,

It's time to go to work.

Scanning the peripheral with my eyes,

I grab my tools.

As wood gets older and tired,

I lose my defense.

No plank is to blame,

As I can relate to the birch.

Soon enough the sun falls within the blue skies.

Around this time nearly every day I had

To polish my dad's

Old war pistol

No cloth could honor

His precision and mark.

When my plants dry,

I'm no better.

Water to drink

Or water to feed.

While trying to decide

I hear them lurk.

Trying not to rise,

I keep my distance.

They see me.

They keep no attempt at stealth,

No attempt at avoiding me,

No attempt to shirk.

They don't conceal their cries,

I try to talk my way out.

They speak in foreign tongue,

Eastern.

Nothing came across from them nor I, except

That I was some new perk.

Sad eyes,

I note cradled by red rage.

Grief, buried by hunger-

Eyeing me as fresh meat.

Staring their old war musket

In the face, they gave me a smirk.

I looked past their guise.

I spy around their neck-

Large tooth necklace.

Too artful for them to craft,

Marked around the collar from being clenched.

Their heart showed itself as a quirk.

Still, they try to assert their eyes-

I try to make offers.

Fear floods my body,

Lifting my feet almost off the ground.

I reach for Daddy's unloaded old war pistol,

Clinging on hope a gift will work.

The sun goes dark.

I feel air rush from my lungs, escaping

Elevation fades to depression, leaving

The skies to cry as everyone dies.