5Looking out my bedroom window, I notice how delicately the spider spins her web. Beyond the web, resting on a leaf, a tiny caterpillar unknowingly waits her death.
Out even more, I see a child running bare foot though the long sweet grass looking for the elusive Haybia flower; a flower that signals the untimely death of children.
She tilts her honey colored head up towards the quickly darkening sky, and she sees the sun setting and the moon slowly rising; the full moon that is so evil to bring on such unnatural forces. She knows her time, and mine, is running short.
She searches for the lone flower that is impossible to locate. The tiny blossom is no bigger than a thumbnail with petals so red that blood is pale in comparison. This mysterious flower weeps the tears of the dead and whispers the secrets of the lost souls that were never found.
Time is reaching its end as the moon has risen, and with it the powerful evil that turns me into a bloodthirsty beast. As I look down in my hand, the tiny flower is withered, but the song it sings is still strong in the heavy, still night air. It whispers the name of the child in the sweet grass; gently it calls her closer.
The moon has now fully risen, and the malevolent glow hits me. The child is still unknowing of what awaits her.
Just before I morph, the spider strikes its prey. Like the caterpillar, the child will fall.