Freedom

about a serial killer. maybe.

Winter startes, shocked, her eyes
Open,
Nightlike, so
Dark.
A scream,
Escapes her lips, but she
Regrets it,
As in the corner,
Someone smiles.
Stepping into the light,
In the locked room,
'Run' he laughs, and she
Desperately
Searches for an escape.

His laugh is closer.

He is featureless, like the room.
No windows,
And iron spikes, portruding from the walls.

Sheilding her face,
Winter runs
Toward the spikes.

Again the man laughs, but
He regrets
That he had not the pleasure
Of driving the spikes through her
Himself.