‹ Prequel: Just Paint Your Face
Sequel: Half Jack ›
Terra Firma
Angel Is Taken
little girl lost, locked
in the white walls of a picket fence
screaming for an escape from those she calls family.
little boy mad
twirls the knife in dirty fingertips
scratching like a rat to escape from a shoddy tin trailer,
choking on momma's alcohol breath and hit
by hard-fisted nails.
little girl lost, locked
in a cement maze
twirling twisting,
no sign of green
hates
this town and the little pig men in their pen
howling at her as she fades.
little boy mad
drinks blood like wine
listens to nothing but a tribal drum
beating in his head, like hard-fisted nails
erupts, slaughters
the pig men
howling at the world
as it gnaws its own blood-covered hands.
"don't go into the woods."
warns a pig dressed in a suit,
but little girl lost pays no mind to those she knows eat trash at night,
harking promises from the mouths of dumpsters,
their mouths smelling of dead fish and brown banana peels.
little boy mad
cannot get little girl lost
out of his purple head.
the concrete breaks her fall,
thanks to the stumbling man
with the self-control of an infant.
little boy mad gives little girl lost a compass,
green like her mothering eyes.
little boy mad is happy
little girl lost is found
they hunt in the woods, killing pigs.
making them squeal.
"don't go into the woods"
the pigs told me,
for the clowns howl and the mothers murder
but I went into the woods
another little girl lost, locked.
I've seen blood and flowers,
carnivores and carnivals,
"don't go into the woods"
for right and wrong do cartwheels
on a tightrope
while howling at the moon,
"and you will be locked up forever"
but I went into the woods.
never have I lived more honestly.
never have I felt more free.
Angel
I remember that poem very clearly. I'd picked it up off her desk. It must've been the one she'd written while I was there in the room with her... after the fit, the explosion. Small happenings in a town like ours.
In the room across from...
"I keep them.. private."
"C'mon, Sis, you have to meet my new friends..."
I looked down at the box I'd found hiding slyly in her closet. Several valuable peices of evidence inside--a black turtleneck sweater and matching pants, comically sized suspenders. A rather ancient looking book, one I recognized immeadiately upon opening, not just from the stains and signature chickenscratch handwriting in the margins, but because of the words on the pages.
My favorite book. What a coincidence.
Also, the bloodstained "scarf", which up close was obviously a tattered bit of a formal shirt. Worn by a man, I deduced. A man concerned for a girl's head wound, spilling blood...
"All those signs." I heard myself say as I shook my head, "All those signs, Jeannie. And we ignored every single one of them."
That's how human nature works, doesn't it?
See no evil, hear no evil, speak...
I didn't have time to finish this train of thought, a detour came up--taking the form of heavy steps and angry-sounding orders in my best friend's living room. My mind deceived me in that stress-filled moment, convincing me that it may be criminals on her side, henchmen turning the place over for clues.
Perhaps, I remember thinking in that moment, I could reason with them. A silly thought, I know. But it is my profession, finding out what makes defected watches tick.
curiosity killed the durn cat
But upon entering the hallway, I regretted it immediately.
His face. His face.
If there was a landscape to hell, the side of his head facing me was a map of it. The skin was like a thin crust of ash grinded down to a featureless covering of his skull. It was a wasteland of craters and open crevices, revealing horrid things within: the unpleasant pink flesh of muscle and gristle holding his sneering jaw together, a cracked nose and a non-existent ear, the occasional ghost-white glisten of bone peeking out...
And the eye. The eye.
Hanging lopsided in the seared bone, was a white orb swimming among a tiny network of red veins. No eyebrow framed it to distract from its feirceness, no flattering shape around it. I felt the gruesome thing as it rolled in the angry socket to stare at me--displaying no emotion. Just a cold, icy orb, staring right into my soul. The thing opened its mean jaw:
"Rachel?"
It was then that I screamed, still clutching the tokens of my best friend's life in my fingertips.
The hellish face and eye displaying nothing. It was dead. It only mocked me as I bit into the chubby man's hand, causing more white-hot fear to chill my mind. The face floated. It was the only thing I could see.
It was only when I felt the sharp pain in my head and heard the light breaking of glass that the face from hell turned, revealing a completely different face, filled with emotion and an eye that was handsome and almost gentle.
All I could think of as I went to the floor was,
He's horrible.
He's beautiful.
in the white walls of a picket fence
screaming for an escape from those she calls family.
little boy mad
twirls the knife in dirty fingertips
scratching like a rat to escape from a shoddy tin trailer,
choking on momma's alcohol breath and hit
by hard-fisted nails.
little girl lost, locked
in a cement maze
twirling twisting,
no sign of green
hates
this town and the little pig men in their pen
howling at her as she fades.
little boy mad
drinks blood like wine
listens to nothing but a tribal drum
beating in his head, like hard-fisted nails
erupts, slaughters
the pig men
howling at the world
as it gnaws its own blood-covered hands.
"don't go into the woods."
warns a pig dressed in a suit,
but little girl lost pays no mind to those she knows eat trash at night,
harking promises from the mouths of dumpsters,
their mouths smelling of dead fish and brown banana peels.
little boy mad
cannot get little girl lost
out of his purple head.
the concrete breaks her fall,
thanks to the stumbling man
with the self-control of an infant.
little boy mad gives little girl lost a compass,
green like her mothering eyes.
little boy mad is happy
little girl lost is found
they hunt in the woods, killing pigs.
making them squeal.
"don't go into the woods"
the pigs told me,
for the clowns howl and the mothers murder
but I went into the woods
another little girl lost, locked.
I've seen blood and flowers,
carnivores and carnivals,
"don't go into the woods"
for right and wrong do cartwheels
on a tightrope
while howling at the moon,
"and you will be locked up forever"
but I went into the woods.
never have I lived more honestly.
never have I felt more free.
Angel
I remember that poem very clearly. I'd picked it up off her desk. It must've been the one she'd written while I was there in the room with her... after the fit, the explosion. Small happenings in a town like ours.
In the room across from...
"I keep them.. private."
"C'mon, Sis, you have to meet my new friends..."
I looked down at the box I'd found hiding slyly in her closet. Several valuable peices of evidence inside--a black turtleneck sweater and matching pants, comically sized suspenders. A rather ancient looking book, one I recognized immeadiately upon opening, not just from the stains and signature chickenscratch handwriting in the margins, but because of the words on the pages.
My favorite book. What a coincidence.
Also, the bloodstained "scarf", which up close was obviously a tattered bit of a formal shirt. Worn by a man, I deduced. A man concerned for a girl's head wound, spilling blood...
"All those signs." I heard myself say as I shook my head, "All those signs, Jeannie. And we ignored every single one of them."
That's how human nature works, doesn't it?
See no evil, hear no evil, speak...
I didn't have time to finish this train of thought, a detour came up--taking the form of heavy steps and angry-sounding orders in my best friend's living room. My mind deceived me in that stress-filled moment, convincing me that it may be criminals on her side, henchmen turning the place over for clues.
Perhaps, I remember thinking in that moment, I could reason with them. A silly thought, I know. But it is my profession, finding out what makes defected watches tick.
curiosity killed the durn cat
But upon entering the hallway, I regretted it immediately.
His face. His face.
If there was a landscape to hell, the side of his head facing me was a map of it. The skin was like a thin crust of ash grinded down to a featureless covering of his skull. It was a wasteland of craters and open crevices, revealing horrid things within: the unpleasant pink flesh of muscle and gristle holding his sneering jaw together, a cracked nose and a non-existent ear, the occasional ghost-white glisten of bone peeking out...
And the eye. The eye.
Hanging lopsided in the seared bone, was a white orb swimming among a tiny network of red veins. No eyebrow framed it to distract from its feirceness, no flattering shape around it. I felt the gruesome thing as it rolled in the angry socket to stare at me--displaying no emotion. Just a cold, icy orb, staring right into my soul. The thing opened its mean jaw:
"Rachel?"
It was then that I screamed, still clutching the tokens of my best friend's life in my fingertips.
The hellish face and eye displaying nothing. It was dead. It only mocked me as I bit into the chubby man's hand, causing more white-hot fear to chill my mind. The face floated. It was the only thing I could see.
It was only when I felt the sharp pain in my head and heard the light breaking of glass that the face from hell turned, revealing a completely different face, filled with emotion and an eye that was handsome and almost gentle.
All I could think of as I went to the floor was,
He's horrible.
He's beautiful.