Strangers

It kept closely to the floor, as if its moral scope was taught equal to a pet; I caught him as a silhouette of dark movement in the blackness of the bedroom doorway that laid down the hall. Felt the mutual glaring from a brightness of eyes that gleamed its golden iris like a serpent on the occasion, as if he wandered lost and perhaps even as frightened as I was of him.

I fell asleep that afternoon in the contentness of no episodic spasms showing for a few weeks time; a celebration nearly, though laid with the awkwardness it was bound to occur again, as if knowing it was.
Was woken to the sound of hassling fearfully or in a panic; though I was alone in my home here. I sat up on the couch watching this creature pace so lowly and almost felt remorse as much as being fear struck.

In the locking of sights, he crept forward more, but steadily as if I were prey. Refusal to step in the small of light that came from the kitchen doorway and in the brief of closing my eyes, he had gone.

The familiarity of them at this time, I dared to observe the spot he took before the vanishing of him, and with the touch of toe tips from the couch, I began to hear the roughness of breathing - panic far more than before and gripped the arm of the couch, just to peek. There he sat, pressed so tightly to its fabric, glaring at me as if he knew I was bound to look for him. He quivered and shook, with legs pressed to chest and though, he was delicate and small, to a young male. Flesh black as blackly could be, burnt and flaked.

He spoke nothing, though the golden of iris' kept in them swirls of brilliance, a beauty in the flamed impairing. To look at him from above, for him to look at me from below, the sudden movement he gave, and the touch of melted flesh to mine, I woke to the whirlwind of paralysis; That feeling of suffocation, while you breathe still... You jerk to be awake, though the body is not prepared yet. When its grip let go of my throat, I opened my eyes to behold the sight, he slept at and on my feet, like an animal with its Master.... though I felt, beautifully in all things morbid; and there we slept, without knowing the story to each other. If only to feel this way with the living, I would be as set as I am with what isn't.