I am hollowed of my morale,

I tremble cowardly,

It whispers heavily into my ear like a hissing snake,

The cry of a wolf howling in the void as the trees waver, stumbling, in the frosty breeze,

Maroon red drapery violently screams as if being sucked into the abis,

Mahogany floorboards groan deeply and the room dim as night,

I glance down, hands trembling, eyes blurred from the barrier that is my tears,

Vigorously the candle flickers, hushed by the gaping wind,

The chill settles like dust, forever looming,

I am feeble and puny,

Outside they welcome me, fog and wind, a ritual,

calling like ratchet hyenas, blood thirsty,

A typhoon of rolling plumes,

And paced whistling dooms me as a vast blanket infiltrates every nook and cranny of what was known as my safe place,

Lungs tighten, choking, a clawed arms suffocates me with a single scrape,

There is no hiding from the devil himself.

Sophie Warman (Year 9)