A Visitor at the Glass

You wonder how I survive the beasts lurking out there. It is simple: they learned early on whose shadow swallows whose. A heavy horned beetle tapped sharply against the window this morning, clawing at the weathered frame. I moved in absolute silence, pressing my gloved palm flat against the cold glass until my reflection obscured the glass entirely. It paused, sensing the glow behind the mask, and beat a hasty retreat down into the moss. Monsters do not pursue those who outstare them.