For Christ himself is Light up there.
He felt his leg again, sure as gold shined, he was cut, bad, artery was severed, even if he were to run, he wouldn’t be able to get far, not with the amount of blood he was losing and certainly not with it stalking him. He got it good, decent crack against its head, but it managed to swipe at him with those nasty claws it had. With a wound like this, don’t matter how dizzy it’d get from that blow, he’d be food soon.
He wasn’t sure how to feel, he hunted these bastards all through his soon to be very short life, and he knew that those in his field wouldn’t get old, yet he never thought that tonight would be his night, that the rude old waitress at the diner would be the last person to see him, that yesterday morning would be his last, that the bluegrass playing on the radio would be the last song he’d hear. “Wish it could’ve been Springsteen” he joked to himself, but it wasn’t like Ol’ Bill was bad, his momma liked him, but it was all too slow. His breathe was getting shallow now, wouldn’t be much longer. He remembered reading about Bill in a magazine his momma owned once, he talked a bit about his faith , said he thought everyone who died, no matter what they did, would get into heaven. He hoped it was true.
Rustling in the brush, it was close and he was getting cold. He hoped he’d bleed out before it got to him, he’d die all the same sure, but he’d rather but it quiet and peaceful. Eyesight was blurring, all he could do now was listen and think, he hoped Bill was right, so that he could see everyone he lost again, it seemed so close, he laid himself on soft ground, the autumn leaves were wet and cold but he was content. The cold was enveloped him, a smile appeared on his face, it wouldn’t get him, paradise was there, he could hear their voices.
