Watching that face, still smeared with blood, the eye With no sight in it, the cruel hands, the limbs, The beard, matted with human blood. Death stood there, The least of all my troubles. I imagined He would catch me any minute, take my flesh Into his own, and I could see the time When he snatched up two friends of mine together And smashed them on the ground, and lay across them Like a lion on his prey, gauming and crunching
Horror
