Emerging from his blackout, he shudders to think how
low he has sunk, vicious like an animal from the start,
through a course of wrong and sin. He envisions hovering
above his own funeral, to understand how it came to this:
Too dead to die, too numb to feel remorse's scorpion sting.
Secrets and shadows curl about his eyes like snakes in
desert caves coiling through the dark. The blood bell
chimes, birthing the future in lurid colors of carnage.
Cut-throat thoughts, villainous dreams, romance death of
darkest red. To accomplish murder most intimate, sacred
symbols are engraved into the blade's inner edge, and carved
into victims flesh -- an act of pagan worship; blood of innocents
spilled, angry gods appeased. Carrying on the legacy in songs
of steel, he grows more proficient and bold, careless in the kill.
Trail of bones at an end, before the bloody gods he bows, a
tumultuous storm lashes the seething sky, lightning's
skeletal fingers rise triumphant, bidding him farewell.
Copyright 2005, Alexis Child. All Rights Reserved.
Published in Whispers of Wickedness
Print Zine (Winter 2005, Issue 11)
&
Featured in Blood Moon Rising
Issue #48, April 2012
All material is copyright. It may not be stored, displayed, published,
reproduced, or used for any other purpose without permission of the Author.