It´s that flourescent light in the dell illuminating the creek.
Does it call us or warn us or not even know we´re here?
Impatient leaving the tavern and ambitious for a shortcut.
Curiously he goes after the spark, though the grass and land is flooded.
He follows it into the wetlands until he´s knee deep in mud.
That distant spark that warms his heart and gives him hope to trudge.
Now waist deep, stationary wet and ready to weep.
The spark has left him stuck, and the sounds across the putrid waters seem to cackle "bad luck"!
Panic sets in like a spider bite and the mouth itself spontaneously begins to shout.
For the warm aura of the nights ale is gone and the beacon of hope is out.
Until the chest goes the black rotting peat and the feeling departs from his now buried legs and feet.
Something flies across the swamp a little bigger than a bat, terror paralyzes his scrambling arms.
It settles not far from him on what looks to be a log, and the sound of it´s voice is good cause for alarm.
"What would you trade to rid yourself of your predicament?"
Knowing the price he replied fearfully "Not a cent."
The tone did change like the growl of a feline thus the dark figuire pleaded- "Will you stay here to slowly sink and even more slowly lose your life and drown?"
He uttered "I´d prefer to die here struggling, than suffer an eternity deep down."
The figuire hissed and took wing, the log it was on suddenly opened it´s eyes and in his direction began looking and approaching at a lizards stride.
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