I don't know what happens after you die.
There are animals on the corner. They watch with beady eyes and shining teeth. Their growls can be heard over the hum of distant traffic.
There are animals on the corner and they wait with red-stained maws, fur matted with gore, brows furrowed.
Ready to pounce.
Humans only have the faintest remnants of hackles being raised. The tickle of hair on the back of the neck. But it is enough. Enough warning that there is danger around the corner that cannot be avoided.
Shoulders raised against the blustering wind. The thrum of growls like a revving engine.
The animals will not step away. They will only wait and stare.
They cannot move from the corner.
They do not need to move from the corner.
Death is ready to pounce; waiting around the corner until the prey comes. They will not go hungry. Prey is always just a few steps away.
They have no fear, no anger, no emotion. They cannot be reasoned with.
They only wait.
There are animals on the corner and they wait for you. You will go to them in time. It cannot be avoided.
They do not pity. They do not feel ashamed of their ravenous hunger. They feel nothing but the inexorable pull that brings their prey to them.
Everyone will try to pass the animals on the corner.
There is no escape.
Old or young, strong or weak. Everyone must walk down that awful pitch-dark street to the corner where they prowl.
Their glowering eyes are the only light, the only indication of where there may be salvation from the darkness.
There is no salvation; only animals waiting to devour.
Tales written from a prompt in just 10 minutes.
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