THE IMPULSE “Judas priest not again!” Elias suffers another night terror. He tossed back the comforter and jumped out of bed sweating bullets, while his prize from the night before lies snuggled under the blankets. He stumbles to the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face hoping to rejuvenate. Elias scans the room; how did he end up here? The place looked familiar, but it still isn’t home, not his home. Disturbed and ticked he seized hold of each side of the vanity sink, with gnarled fingers… leaned in and stared despondently at a washed-out image reflected in a cracked mirror. Elias recalled escaping the Mitchley farm by the skin of his teeth whilst being chased by the state police and their pack of blood–thirsty hounds. They picked up on his scent soon after he suffered a scathing ankle injury bolting barefoot through the woods. He put as many miles between himself and that detestable farmhouse fast as possible. He slogged through a foot of slushy snow, slid down a muddy embankment into a raging creek, grasping at flogs of ice pillars, and low hanging limbs, anything to keep from being swept away by the undertow. Off in the distance the hounds baying fizzled to a mere whimper allowing Elias to catch his chill breath and rest. But now hypothermia was the only thing on his mind. Oh, where are the hot summer days when you need them? He gathered pine limbs and laid down on a bed of moss using the limbs as a blanket, clutching onto his Holy Crest. He realized he was lost, unlike most, thinking this is how the hounds will find me. Dear Elias, get up now and follow me to your new home, a still small voice retorts in his ear. While above him a profuse black cloud forms inciting a whirlwind to descend… clearing a path towards freedom.