Hostage

I am the beast.
I am the beast.
I am the beast.
I am the beast.
I am the beast.
I am the beast.
I am the beast.
I am the beast.

The beast is me.

I was sitting in the library computer lab this afternoon, when a paw wrapped itself around me.
I felt hot breath and knew he was back for more.

I didn't expect the knife.
The knife at my throat.
I swallowed and felt cold steel against my skin.

I am the beast.
I am the beast.

"Tell them I am real. Tell them I am you. Tell them."

I shuddered.

"They know not what I am. What I can do. Tell them."

I am the beast.

I put my hands on the keyboard
Began typing letters, then words, then erased them.
Letters, words, erase.
Letters, letters, words, submit.

Pressing the blade closer against my windpipe, I draw blood.
Just a little.

I whisper to him:
"You are reality. You are me. We are one and the same."

I am the beast.
I am the beast.
I am the beast.

My face tingles.
He is gone.

On the bus ride home, I hear a long low growl.

The beast is me.


Afterthought:

I'm tired, but I can't sleep.
I'm not worried about missing school or work.
I'm not worried about seeing my grandmother for the first time in four years.
I'm not even worried about an eleven hour drive with a sister that doesn't like me.

I'm worried that I will never be free.

God, please don't let him follow me to California.