A man swinging a sword in the dark. Aimless.
“A man swinging a sword in the dark. Aimless. His hands grow weary, the sword lays on the ground more often than not. The power of every thrust comes from utter exhaustion. As if each one comes from a place of desperation.
Something vicious comes close. It is invisible. It never hits the man but it always comes close. It waits til he is exhausted. It waits til the sword slips from the grip of the man.”