Why doesn't it frighten me any more?

That's what I ask myself every time I hear that screeching. I jumped the first time. I felt my heart race time after time after.

But now I'm not even feeling ice down my spine. My heart is as slow as it was five minutes ago.

And I've seen what the screeching does. Seen what they want to do to me.

But I'm not scared. It's like I have nothing to fear.

Maybe it's because I've seen it. Maybe it's because I've seen it so many times.

I've just been fighting to survive all this time. The end goal, live

I lost long ago. What was me is gone. What's left isn't afraid. Not any more.

They screech again. Getting closer. I almost want to welcome them.

Everybody else met them like this. No one else stood a chance.

They screech again. Closer and closer.

I almost want to welcome them.

---

I guess I was wrong.

The screeching doesn't frighten me, I realise now. It's taken me this long since I gave up to realise what does.

I hear the screech and I hear hope. Hope I'm not alone or I won't be alone any more. Hope either someone else is out there and getting away or hope that this time I won't.

And now I realise what really scares me.

I no longer here the screech.

I'm scared.

My heart is racing. I'm sweating. I hear nothing.

And I'm scared.

I'm scared of the silence.

Scared of how quiet this place is.

I'm scared of what's left. Or rather, I'm scared of what isn't. I almost want to shun it all.

They don't screech again. They're getting further away. Further away from me, leaving me in emptiness and desolation.

I really do have nothing to fear.