Lately, for some reason,
I've been considering the possibilities of my own death.
Not at my own hands-but that of another.

Perhaps it's due to my least favourite movie, The Lovely Bones
And that as watching it,
I can feel physical revulsion and pain at how he lures her in.
How she asks to leave.
How she misses dinner.

Despite my own experiences and knowledge of predators,
I quite literally can't count the number of them
The number I've run into on my own-not as a child.

As an adult.
An adult where my parents were a continent away
And where I was targeted at opportune times and the middle of the day,
accurately mind you.
There's been to many times.

I was utterly alone.

It irks me that I was targeted, firstly.
But mostly, it bothers me that I was
Likely only saved because a guy friend
Or a boyfriend stepped up.

I couldn't begin to imagine what I'd accidentally cause,
Being a willing target.
I can't even try to understand the horror that could have occurred had another second to happen in broad daylight.

It'd only take a second,
And I hate it.