Departure at 4 a.m.

A suspenseful poem.

It's 4 AM in the morning.

My ears popped at the sound of the phone ringing, jerking me out of my daze.

"Hello..." is all that manages to spill from my throat when I hear the heat on the other side of the receiver.

It's so damn hot that I swore the plastic would melt in my hands.

It was that sound that got me going, that reminded me of your terrible

face. Your stinking corpse rotting in the cold mud, and that horrible

face of yours.

That face that I can't stand to look at. The face that makes my temples

throb in sheer torture. A face that I can't seem to make go away, not

for the life of me.

And now hearing your shredded voice on the line, swearing to god that I

smelled your rancid breath in my face, my pupils dilate and the fear

grips my heart with its' icy fingers.

The verdict stands. You've come, and there's nothing I can do.