I have a recurring nightmare of faceless men pursuing me until I jolt awake, my skin crawling with fear.
They are like the wind, gaining on me whilst my legs turn leaden and my lungs burn.
It’s only a bad dream, I have consoled myself, hunting for the patch of bedclothes not soaked in cold fear, curling up against the night, willing myself to find calmer waters.
Tonight, at last, they have found me – I can feel their cold breath raising the hairs on my flesh as they pull me from my slumber.
I am The Prophet and living is my curse.