Write about something that: beckons.
Washrooms were, rather unexpectedly, basically fine this morning. Quite a bit of litter in the parks, but that was manageable. Hopefully (fingers crossed) past the worst of things now.
Regardless, just one more day before my weekend commences.
The figure in the woods is not real. I know this. It can beckon me all it likes, it can move from shadow to shadow like a child doing a poor job of hide and seek. I still understand that it is not really there.
I say it with intention. Male and female does not apply to this... thing. It is sexless, just as it is ageless and nameless.
Well, it may have had a name, once. But that was long ago. I doubt it would recognize its given name if I were to call it out to it. Too much time has passed. I can feel how ancient this thing is. Just as I can sense that its intentions toward me are as dark as its current form. Without question, it wishes to do me harm.
I know all this, just as I know that it is not really out there, beckoning and moving and beckoning again.
I understand on a level which lurks far below my skin, deep beneath all conscious thought.
I know, and I understand, and yet I follow it anyway.