The Waiting
Through the cracks in the roof shafts of sunlight like arrows piercing my heart. In the beam, specks of dust turn golden. I hear the doves' wings flapping and the cooing of the lovers - I remember him.
Bats hang motionless, waiting for the night - how docile they look, like he did, before he savoured the sweetness of my blood!
The wind has died. Fallen leaves do not chatter. The doves have left. Bats are stirring in their sleep.
Night approaches- I wait - listening for his footfalls...