found drama

At the end of a long square chamber, I’m locked into a narrow channel that runs along its back (front?) wall.  It’s just barely wide enough to crouch down in.  There is a breathy howl from the far end of the chamber.  I can see movement but not the creature itself.  It is coming for me, that much I know for sure.  There is the sound of some other fleshy entity being eviscerated.  In the distance I can see it leap high into the air — at least twenty feet — and watch a thin trail of blood and guts trail after it.  As it hangs there in the air, I see that is the slick black carapace of the alien a la Ridley Scott and/or H.R. Gieger.  It is young, it is a juvenile; it is part canine.  I crouch down into a ball and pray it will not sniff me out.

About Rob Friesel