Nearing the woodsman, one could discern almost inaudible screams.  The sounds were muffled by something.  It looked to be a carpet, but was so muddy and dingy it was hard to ascertain.  The carpet was brittle and sounded like wood being chopped.

Upon closer inspection, there were in fact people being hacked to pieces beneath the carpeting.  The woodsman, with his pulled face over the bones, and with death coming from his lips, had succeeded in stripping his land of all that lived.

Running was not an option.  My feet were missing.  My mind was left to wander.  My lifeless limbs left far behind.

Chop.  Chop.  The metronome that measured out the end of my life.