Bystander

they fall upon me, each bent on doing harm I fight them, for what I know now, as my life kicking, stomping, flailing, smashing their fury only increased by the affront of my fruitless attempts to obstruct them this angry little mob, of angry little men a voice rings out, a clarion in the dark that briefly piques their bleak interest shouting, calling, warning, admonishing it falls weakly on their deafened ears pausing just to raise derisive laughs and their assurances to "keep it down" awakening to a doctor's droning voice drolly noting each fracture and contusion defensive wound, defensive wound... as he dictates the inventory of my defeat all I can think of is that voice in the dark demanding some "peace and quiet, damn it"