The hours had been passing by, the only way I knew this was because of the moon. It's light illuminated the thickets, and from my spot on the ground, the trees of the forest peered down at me with menacing eyes. I would run.

A shrill cry would call my name. Rasping, desperate. I could hear the hunger in its voice. So close to my ear, l could feel its breath. It smelt rotten, and from its crooked mouth, yellow pincer teeth stared back.

No matter how far I ran, how many tries I felt its claw pierce my flush, holding me, pinning me. I would feel its promise of death.

Before I awoke and emerged under the crooked tree. Every night I wake up under the same tree.

I hear its whispered laugh. The blood is still on my body, I feel the pain, but I am so exhausted I can no longer fight.

And so I look at the moon, as it never quite comes to an end. I feel the breaking of my bones. I can no longer move.and now all I see is the crooked tree beside me.