Something dark has gotten into me
I feel a scream but cannot voice it. It has been pinched off in my throat. I cannot breathe! One more moment without air and I shall faint and be left for the evil that has overpowered this room. I need air! But to breathe would be to give myself away. I cannot let myself be known. I must stay here behind this curtain. It is my only hope. It is my salvation. The evil is lurking, looking, lusting, for the living. And I, I am the only thing living here. The flowers only exist. They have been cut from their roots and will soon wilt in the water that temporarily sustains them. They fill the room with their aroma, but it has become sickening. They compete for the evil's attention. He hates them but must test them one by one, looking for my essence. Looking, lurking, lusting, for me, the true, living. He is teasing, testing, tasting, taunting. He wants blood. There is no other blood here. I alone have it's supply. There is another here who once flowed with it's life giving properties; once danced gaily, lived lively, laughed and loved. But her flow ceased. She was opened and poured out. Her life was spilled in all its reddness. It was flung against the polished oaken walls, splashed across the sheen of dark walnut and plush green of the wool covered floor. So strange to have the jolly Christmas themed colors splayed that way in the wet, dead last day of October. Now she lies upon and beneath pink Satin, surrounded by hard ebony. She lies just over there, a few feet from this purple velvet shield I've taken refuge behind. He did her in. He, that evil thing. Now he comes to take what's left of her to do the most evil thing of all. And I? I was to stop him. I was to arrest him. I, who thought him a mere man with an evil heart, was going to show these unsophisticated paupers that monsters do not exsist outside childish minds. But, I saw him. I saw him when he did not see me and I saw he had no soul. I saw blackness behind his eyes. I saw the eyes of a serpent, not of a human man. And I knew my gun would not hold him back. And so I have scampered like a rat to this corner and if my heart does not pound outside my chest, I will wait here and pray he does not smell my fear. He will take her body for certain, but he is looking for my blood. He is always looking for blood. He cannot produce it, He must steal it. And then, when he has taken your life, he returns to do the most terrible of deeds, he returns to steal your soul. This night the evil is after a feast; my blood and her soul. And then soon after, when I am laid out and morned, he will return for my soul as well. And as I have abandoned this poor woman to the evil so will I be abandoned. I have no hope but to remain hidden and pray he does not sniff me out. But my heart keeps pounding louder and louder and my breath keeps coming in greater and greater gasps. Soon I will suck the air out of the room and then the scream will well up inside and burst forth and he will know I am here! Dear lord I must keep quiet! I must be quieter than the fly on the wall. I must be more still than book on the shelf. I must not move this curtain! He is slinking nearer. I hear his hoofsteps on the rug. I smell his acrid, hot breath. I feel his yellow eyes looking through the thick velvet. He can see me! I feel it! My heart is pounding louder than the clock works. I hear the evil rumble in his throat. I must not scream! I must not scream!
"Oh, you look so good in purple."
Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Read 452 times
Written on 2006-10-26 at 23:00
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A Halloween Story
What fear is this? It grabs my heart and squeezes it like a vise.I feel a scream but cannot voice it. It has been pinched off in my throat. I cannot breathe! One more moment without air and I shall faint and be left for the evil that has overpowered this room. I need air! But to breathe would be to give myself away. I cannot let myself be known. I must stay here behind this curtain. It is my only hope. It is my salvation. The evil is lurking, looking, lusting, for the living. And I, I am the only thing living here. The flowers only exist. They have been cut from their roots and will soon wilt in the water that temporarily sustains them. They fill the room with their aroma, but it has become sickening. They compete for the evil's attention. He hates them but must test them one by one, looking for my essence. Looking, lurking, lusting, for me, the true, living. He is teasing, testing, tasting, taunting. He wants blood. There is no other blood here. I alone have it's supply. There is another here who once flowed with it's life giving properties; once danced gaily, lived lively, laughed and loved. But her flow ceased. She was opened and poured out. Her life was spilled in all its reddness. It was flung against the polished oaken walls, splashed across the sheen of dark walnut and plush green of the wool covered floor. So strange to have the jolly Christmas themed colors splayed that way in the wet, dead last day of October. Now she lies upon and beneath pink Satin, surrounded by hard ebony. She lies just over there, a few feet from this purple velvet shield I've taken refuge behind. He did her in. He, that evil thing. Now he comes to take what's left of her to do the most evil thing of all. And I? I was to stop him. I was to arrest him. I, who thought him a mere man with an evil heart, was going to show these unsophisticated paupers that monsters do not exsist outside childish minds. But, I saw him. I saw him when he did not see me and I saw he had no soul. I saw blackness behind his eyes. I saw the eyes of a serpent, not of a human man. And I knew my gun would not hold him back. And so I have scampered like a rat to this corner and if my heart does not pound outside my chest, I will wait here and pray he does not smell my fear. He will take her body for certain, but he is looking for my blood. He is always looking for blood. He cannot produce it, He must steal it. And then, when he has taken your life, he returns to do the most terrible of deeds, he returns to steal your soul. This night the evil is after a feast; my blood and her soul. And then soon after, when I am laid out and morned, he will return for my soul as well. And as I have abandoned this poor woman to the evil so will I be abandoned. I have no hope but to remain hidden and pray he does not sniff me out. But my heart keeps pounding louder and louder and my breath keeps coming in greater and greater gasps. Soon I will suck the air out of the room and then the scream will well up inside and burst forth and he will know I am here! Dear lord I must keep quiet! I must be quieter than the fly on the wall. I must be more still than book on the shelf. I must not move this curtain! He is slinking nearer. I hear his hoofsteps on the rug. I smell his acrid, hot breath. I feel his yellow eyes looking through the thick velvet. He can see me! I feel it! My heart is pounding louder than the clock works. I hear the evil rumble in his throat. I must not scream! I must not scream!
"Oh, you look so good in purple."
Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Read 452 times
Written on 2006-10-26 at 23:00
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
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