I don’t speak English, though it be my only language. I held inside my hell, closed tight and hidden just for me, then my words became a fine spirit of pain distilled. The spoken word of articulated screams. Barely heard when first we speak, words with shadows vaguely heard.

It's midnight in the forest. Darkness surrounds me. I hear twigs snapping, leaves rustling. Something is following me. Panic swells as I pick up the pace, I'm running away but from who or what? My foot snags on a tree root and I crash to the ground. Blood and dirt fill my mouth.