Pride

I'm leisurely walking through the forest, admiring the foliage when I here it coming. It's been lurking for hours and now is ready to attack, and I can do nothing but run. No defense, no protection, it's just it and me.

I increase my speed and it follows, increasing its pace too. I slip in the wet mud but manage to stay standing. I hear the blood rush in my ears and then feel the fear of it coming in the tightest strings of my heart. My pace increases again.

I'm practically running now, to save my life, to hide from it. You can always run, but never hide from it. Suddenly my foot catches upon a fallen branch and I hit the ground hard. It realizes that I am weak and it attacks.

It's shredding me apart, clawing my face and biting my fingers. Across the neck with a blow and over the jugular. The fatal blow is struck and it steps back, enjoying my plight after it's wrath. It laughs and withdraws, leaving me there for dead.

I wallow in anger and pain. Why did I allow this to happen? I should have protected myself. I knew better. But I didn't act it. The response and action upon it have wounded me. Its work is done. It can live in peace again. I never will, for it shall grow to hate me once again. The next attack will be more severe. I should safeguard myself; perhaps the battle will be more fair. There will never be an end though. It will stand alone, as it always has, the victor.

Pride.

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