I didn’t know that the hunt had started.  There were no red jackets, no men on horseback, no decoys and no bait.  I heard no bugle call.  There were no onlookers cheering on, no demonstrators to be seen. The pack of hounds had been replaced by a solitary, snarling, black dog.  Its target was clear, I was its prey.  And with that open season was declared on my mind.

The attacks started instantly.  Vicious and brutal.  There was no reasoning with the animal, it sensed my weakness. Chasing me, I ran into snares, cornered and disorientated. It didn’t stop at physical attacks, its howling haunted my dreams.

In the battlefield of my head, my synapses tried to retaliate with firing, but supplies were running short.  The front line was dangerous, re-uptake proving near impossible.  In the chaos of the hunt, fresh ammunition was stranded in my own neuronal mess.

This beast wasn’t going to stop until I had fallen. My serotonergic defences couldn’t hold the dog off.  It lashed out repeatedly, until its teeth took a vice-like hold, and brought me down.  I screamed out in despair. Wounded, paralysed on the floor, I knew the dog had won.