"I never saw a wild thing feel sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself"
-D.H. Lawrence-
In what I believed to be the last moments of my life, my pain addled brain reached into my subconscious and extracted this famous quote. Literature was always my favorite subject in school and so I couldn't help but feel a twinge of irony as I stared up into the eyes of my would be killer. I feel my body grow cold as the world shifts beneath me and I struggle desperately to cling to consciousness.
Death will be coming for me soon.
My God that I've clung to for the last 17 years since my salvation, has finally come reaping for my soul.
I should be crying right now. Begging and pleading for my life in fact, but instead, I'm wishing that I had chosen a better last meal. Meatloaf, potatoes with brown gravy, and buttery hot rolls would've been more filling than the measly sandwich I had quickly eaten at work. It's funny how even when my body is in the throes of pain and torment, my mouth can still salivate for such delicious nourishment.
With my last breath I smile at the man before me because of the realization that I too am a wild thing, and in death, I feel no pity.
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Wild Thing
Mystery / ThrillerLily Calvinson grew up on a compound that would later be described as "the cult of the century." Followers were taught obedience, that God was their enemy, and any interaction or affiliation with churches, Bibles, or Christians could be punishable b...
