Lamb

[Quinton Maxwell]

Things get really dark when he walks in the room. His children follow him, clinging to his coattails like leaves. There is a rustling sound when he walks. His encroaching footsteps stretch over several feet. I always admired that way he covers ground with such little effort. It reminds me of how futile my means of transporting myself are. The little ones all have camcorders and silver circles all glare at me. They never blink and the metallic lenses ocassionally catch the light. He is autonomous of this room. He is only here because I've ruined something. I become suddenly quite assured that he means to kill me. Panic flashes. I spryly leaps towards him and drop upon him. I bite, kick, squeel, and drag fingernails through what feels like sponge. His offspring watch and record it all. Things happen far too fast. With distain I realise that his blood is seeping my coat. After all that, I become an internet sensation. My feet hardly touch the ground.