masked, he came towards me
weapon in hand, hands bloodthirsty.
the white of his mask showed no purity,
only a sinister mystery.
most would run, or scream even
but i could not; legs tied with fear
tongue tied into a knot,
i remained silent as the assailant
drew near.
close enough to feel his breath
warm upon my cheek
he whispered:
‘my name is Hope.
this is what i look like.’
i could feel his blade
cold, pressed against my thigh
yet he entwined his leather gloved fingers
with mine.
swaying gently, bathed in an unknown,
gentle light.
but the light grew harsher;
i notice it reflecting off my
heart.
the silver blade, burrowed into my chest.
my knees buckle and
the floor is ice.
warmth drains from me and
hope crouches down - removes his
mask.
faceless and empty,
empty with unknowing.
from nowhere, Hope’s voice echoed
everywhere.
he said:
‘my name is Hope and
hope never dies.’