Rustling through the underbrush of my cluttered apartment, I hear it. She comes on feet padded by eons of evolution. And though I can sense her approach, I know that there is little that I can do to avoid it.
A cold is coming. Sometime soon, she shall sink her teeth into my throat. I shall feel the ache of her jaws upon my muscles and the dull crunch as she chews off the back of my skull.
A cold is coming. And there is little that I can do save hope that she passes me by.