Nine Prongs (Metaphor)

I entered the door only to face three pitchforks aimed right at my midsection. I instinctively jumped back as the three facing me charged ready to fill me like a haystack with nine prongs of glinting steel. I had room to jump left but a swipe from one of the pursuers caused me to pivot to the right instead. I ducked low feeling the prongs graze my scalp, blood trickling down my neck while I made a full turn and rolled clear of the stabbing forks. Jumping up from the muddied ground I sprinted into the beckoning darkness.

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About Paul L.

Poet, Thinker, Writer, and Reader
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