The unknown, a monster, is playing a cat and mouse game with his pawings scanty and scattered. Judging from my previous history, I can only guess the sketchy future. Whether there'll be nothingness or glory, I do not know. Glory or existence versus non-existence will surface from this cat and mouse chase.

I sensed this monster's existence rather early in my life. I know how he works. I know how he likes to give slight warnings, although only sometimes. I know how he likes to feel my tension, my discomfort, my hurt, and how an intimidating look of relief forms on his hideous, vile face, a look that extols his sacred bond with cruelty, but is he really cruel? Or is he something else?

I always wished he'd make one sudden, final leap to do away with what's left of me, but no. A monster likes to play with his prey. He will never choose the least hurtful way.

Before his final toss, he'll imply something, some kind of an offer, maybe the promise of another existence, but who can trust an underhanded monster? I wouldn't trust any information I could sneak out of him if I tried, although I am eaten up with curiosity.

I think I'll stick around and wait, for the omen of stormy weather lurks in the air, and the first gales have already reached me. Is this a warning?