The whisper beckoned, quietly. As it got quieter, I knew it was moving; as it moved, I followed. I wasn't paying attention, but I knew I was walking in a straight line. The path became increasingly well-lit. The whisper became louder. I stopped.

The whisper held its volume, held its tone. It wanted me to stay where I was. I knew this was the end. I made no final appeal, no self-defence. I held my ground, and waited for the final call.

The whisper stammered, then stopped. I was alone.