Footfalls rustled behind me

the skirts of the grass sighing

leather boots gripping mud

A finger upon a trigger, pulling

the spring as I turn my head

to look behind me

bang

Warmth spreads on my stomach,

my hand comes away crimson,

no scream comes from my throat

as I stand in shock, stumbling;

I feel blood rise to my mouth

and I close it

lest my words come away

crimson

as well.