i paused and turned. felt daylight fading into the folds of jumper to pocket. relieved at the predator howler-scream. colliding hallway drums. some spine crushing hug. in any dark tight space, without you. eye. i feel, alive. the fading sense that what might be pulverized before i feet the door. is. in seven. four. thirty-thousand seconds. that guy. that guy who collects cans from classrooms. that guy's asleep in a chair. in a room with no lights. alone. and i smile against the scream. would that one of us were eaten. ripped into blood and guts horrorshows. no, i shout at the room without lights. turn to run. no. not i not i not i.