I crouched down low, my breathing slow

I watched intently, taking in the view.

Afraid of moving and disturbing the fox.

The fox pricked up his ears. Could he smell my presence?

The cracking of dead wood under foot, the fox alerted ran into the depths of the woods.

I still crouched, slightly pissed off but breathing harder as the footsteps came nearer.

“What the fuck are you doing mate?”

I stand and turn to meet the cause of the fox’s alarm.

Two men stare at me. I recognise them and I could see a flicker of recognition in

their dull and sunken eyes.

I’d served them both numerous times with sterile works so that they could

safely flood their veins with heroin and recieve their mothers cuddle.

They looked as gaunt and pallid as I’d remembered them.

“I was watching a fox”

I asked them how they were but but my heart wasn’t in it.

Then off they went to their secret place in the woods, pockets filled with spoons and citric acid.

I went to the woods that day to find peace and life but what I saw instead was a slow death.

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