It hates. It has hated, and will hate. It hates all things not itself or its kind, but in particular, right now, it hates me. It pursues me through this place of narrow pathways amidst untraversible nothing. Why does it pursue me? I have committed no grave offense against it, save for my presence in its vicinity. I could not, I cannot; for this being may as well be death. To be in its immediate proximity is to cease to exist, and it pursues me as fast as I can move. The slightest hesitation invites immediate destruction. Does it see me as a threat? As prey? It matters not. It hates, it pursues me, and contact with it is doom. I know not what it is; it presents itself as a statue but it is far too ambulatory, far too destructive, far too endowed with unyielding hatred to be mere carved stone. I see another not-statue ahead. My stomach feels as if it contains a lead ball; there is more than one. I have not just intruded into a lair of these hateful entities, but a nest. I change course, to hopefully evade both pursuers. A third makes itself apparent, and yet more hateful, ambulatory facsimiles of art objects embroil themselves in my pursuit. I do not have time to think. I can only act. I see the gray visage of a pursuer ahead of me, I change course to force them to chase. I have encountered and shaken the attentions of many of these things now. Am I close to an exit? Am I going in circles? I do not know, I do not have time to know. I only have time to run, run and pray that...

One is ahead of me. In my foolishness I have let my pursuers herd me into the path of pursuers I had previously shaken. The entity becomes aware of me. There is nowhere to go. It is ahead of me. They are behind. Curse my foresight for not being as swift as my feet!

I am doo-