The icy tongue swept over his hair,
it prickled, slow.
Yellowing, it barred its teeth.
cocked its head, challenging.
There was no choice, he ran at the mocking head.
Slow, deliberate, it spread its arm, taking him in.
...the cold spread to his throat now.
closing on his throat. Now.
Rasped what he thought was his last breath.
Clutching, his palms, sweaty despite the cold,
broken nails, dug deeper.
Its wheezy laugh, booming in his ears.
He could not shut it out.
It curved his spine, slow. As if it were to kiss.
He struggled against what, he did not understand.
He did 'cause that's what he wanted to do.
Sunlit streets conjured up in his mind,
he dreamed for an angel to save him.
He lay there, whole now. Looking at the broken teeth, now barred.
Ward 02 was now streamed with the receding twilight.
His straight jacket, slack.
Rushing steps. Swish of lab coats.