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A small piece


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Here is a piece of writing I did a long while ago, while in the 'thick of it'.


Rage, howling, screaming injustice at the moon.

To be shown solice just to have it snatched away is cruel. Cruel beyond words and meaning.

There is no logic.

There is no longer any normal to me. You're my assassin, but can't see the crime.

Breaks into a canter, just hoping for fear as a diversion from the pain. No care for the paw prints he leaves; the desire to be hunted is upon him and caution is thrown to the wind.

Territorial scent markings are ingnored, and old battles remembered fondly.

Ever onwards he pads with the realisation that it was never solice he sought ......but destruction.

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