I can tell he is going to kill me. I am old and would not be
terribly sad to see it come.
But, to be murdered?
No...
My bedchamber has become
his favorite place
to pass the time,
and I,
his biggest point of interest.

He is so kind to me,
more than ever before.
It is sickening.
I am a lodger here,
but not truly a guest,
no.
I am a target.

Every night
just at midnight he comes in.
He watches,
waits,
waits for the eye.
The vulture eye.

He hates it!
It burns him,
cuts deep into his soul.
And, I know it.
I let it.
I let it lazily drift towards him while he thinks I'm reading...

In a way,
it's the only way for my old self to get back at him for plotting
to kill an old, weary soul
such as myself.

He that would kill me,
and for what?
His peace of mind?
And, to an end,
I may have gone mad over this.
But, not more so than he...
he that would kill for peace.
A rest from this weary,
old,
dead,
eye.

He is truly and undoubtedly insane. That he is not,
would be a lie,
is a lie.
Yet,
in every conversation he mentions it.
"The disease has not made me mad. Tis a mere sharpening
of the senses."
He lies.
His audacity...
to plan to murder an old man
and not be insane.

Nightly,
I hear him.
Sense him.
Slowly,
slowly,
slowly,
moving
closer,
closer
every night.

Sometimes he is so quiet
that I can hear my own heart beat. He can too...
And it pains him.
Thump thump,
thump thump.
The beating must make
the madman more mad.

He then shines the lantern at me. sliding the shutters of it open, slowly ,
slowly.
He carefully,
gently,
vigilantly,
moves the minuscule beam upward.
To my eye.
The vulture eye.

And I see it come...
just before it does,
I close it.
That eye that he loathes so much. For if it was open,
I would surely die
in his rage
at the bane of his existence.
He would so diligently seek
to eradicate my existence
that there would be no chance
for me.

Perhaps,
at that,
I am indeed,
also mad.

But finally,
this last and 7th night,
I have decided.
The madness,
his,
and mine,
will go on no longer.

And it seems to be not just me,
but his subconscious as well
that decides this.
for,
he slips.
mentally and physically.
He carelessly opens the door
too fast
and moves inside
much faster this night.
And, while opening the lantern,
he makes a squeak.
perhaps his hand
slips on the shutter
just slightly,
but nevertheless,
it squeaks.

I sit up with a jolt
suddenly.
Waiting for the inevitable kill
to happen.
But nothing does.
I patiently pass time
till he comes in,
ends me,
and finds some horrible
nightmarish
way to make it happen.
But nothing does.

No,
he waits.
it is silent.
"He may have left
in my rush to sit up."
I tell myself inwardly.
But I do not believe
even my own thoughts now.
It is too late an hour
on life’s timer till death
for that.

Then,
I wait more.
Thoughts of how
I deceive myself
go through my head.

"It was simply a beetle
in the wall,
or a cricket that has made
a single chirp."
I even say this out loud.

But NO!
He is there.
Doubt has once again
bludgeoned faith.

There I stay,
we stay.
Waiting to kill,
and be killed.

He,
listening to my heart beat.
I,
Thinking how it is like
the timepiece of life.

How poetic.
The heart,
ticking away at our time.
I too now.
I hear it thud.
Comparable to a watch
buried deep
in the wool pocket
of it's owner.
waiting
to be taken out and checked upon.

I,
in my one last effort to live,
let out a moan.
The deep,
forlorn,
weary,
sad
moan,
of a man literally
on the bed of death.

Then the ray rises.
Deaths finger points upward.
Up,
up,
till at last,
in synchronization
with the loudest yet beat
of my heart,
it is cast upon my eye.

He shines it steadily,
steadily.
I dare not move.
Then and there.
With his last
and final glimpse
of my hideous eye,
he decides fully to the deed,
and charges.

I let out one final shriek
of horror.
My hour is at hand.
He throws me down.

The mattress atop me
doesn't allow me to breathe.
But in my last effort to win
this battle of madmen,
I will my heart to beat on.

It does,
I hope,
then I fear.

That timepiece of life
may not be stopped.
The muffled pocketwatch
ticks
nevermore.

My heart beats
.....once.......twice..........