The wires are singing - they are close by, too close for us to run but far enough away for us to hide. They have been following us for years now, trailing behind some dozen or so miles but always within hearing range. They do this on purpose to incite fear and make us too cautious to rest.
A sleepless enemy is a careless enemy and we are so very tired. We do not dig as deeply as we should, our trench is more or less a ditch that we attempt to make safer by burying ourselves like the blessed dead while the wire's song becomes a riotous screeching akin to the infernal choirs of hell itself and we are the damned.
They have never been so close before and we do not doubt that we will die if they overtake us.
We hold our breaths, clutch the dirt beneath and pray it is enough for one more day.
The screeching begins to fade to singing, to whispering, to silence.
We are left to contemplate what has passed us by.
We are left to wonder if we should follow it.
We are left to become the hunter.
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