Floored.
Obtusely so.
By a red-handed sword slice.
They claim it’s white.
I can’t run from them anymore.
An eagle roars though, aloft.
The screech is deafening.
And talons tear through the sky.
I’m not the prey.
Cutting.
They tear at the white clad, scarlet-pawed foes.
Foes?
“Foes,” the eagle affirms.
“Soon I will have to leave, wont I?”
“Foes,” the eagle reaffirms for the buzagillionth time.
“Who gets left behind?”
He spreads his pinioned arms.
Shelter glistens.
Off he wings into the distance.
My questions unanswered.
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