The Serpent is coming.
Eyes flashing yellow.
Coiled in.
Coiled out.
Fangs dripping
with venom.
He smirks.
Slit tongue,
horned brows
and all.
Gracefully writhing,
entrancing
all in his spectrum.
When the crowd collects,
silence.
stillness.
patience.
Breath inaudible,
Smirk constant.
He contracts
.
.
.
and strikes.
Engulfed by the scream
I awoke.
Shaking,
ran to the sink,
splashed water on my face.
A glimpse.
Eyes flashing yellow.
The Serpent is here.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Wounded. 11/13/13
A thunderous boom slashes through the still forest.
A soft thud follows.
Heavy, pained breathing,
intermittent whimpers.
It had startled the others,
but besides the initial shock it went unnoticed.
There in the thicket,
a doe.
Blood was erupting from the bullet hole
yet she would not die;
the shot was not fatal.
Taking her time, she tried to stand.
Stumbling, crying out
from the pain shooting through her weakened legs.
She fell again,
cutting her cheek on a stone.
But she was determined.
Removing her weight from her injury,
she was able to stand.
But she couldn't stop the bleeding.
She staggered on,
blood trails staining the ground behind her,
marking her history.
She knew she wouldn't die
but the blood kept coming.
She could feel it leaving her body,
trickling down,
seemingly endlessly.
But she knew she would not die.
She had reached the shelter,
But still the crimson cape
flew from the black, gaping hole.
Turning her head to face the wound for the first time,
she saw that a piece of the bullet was still there
lodged under her broken skin.
That's what was causing the bleeding.
Sharply, courageously, she pulled it out.
The agony was unlike anything she could have imagined.
The blood poured out in buckets over the dried forest floor
And the doe fainted from the pain.
When she finally awoke,
the bleeding had stopped.
And a thin layer of skin had begun to close the wound.
A soft thud follows.
Heavy, pained breathing,
intermittent whimpers.
It had startled the others,
but besides the initial shock it went unnoticed.
There in the thicket,
a doe.
Blood was erupting from the bullet hole
yet she would not die;
the shot was not fatal.
Taking her time, she tried to stand.
Stumbling, crying out
from the pain shooting through her weakened legs.
She fell again,
cutting her cheek on a stone.
But she was determined.
Removing her weight from her injury,
she was able to stand.
But she couldn't stop the bleeding.
She staggered on,
blood trails staining the ground behind her,
marking her history.
She knew she wouldn't die
but the blood kept coming.
She could feel it leaving her body,
trickling down,
seemingly endlessly.
But she knew she would not die.
She had reached the shelter,
But still the crimson cape
flew from the black, gaping hole.
Turning her head to face the wound for the first time,
she saw that a piece of the bullet was still there
lodged under her broken skin.
That's what was causing the bleeding.
Sharply, courageously, she pulled it out.
The agony was unlike anything she could have imagined.
The blood poured out in buckets over the dried forest floor
And the doe fainted from the pain.
When she finally awoke,
the bleeding had stopped.
And a thin layer of skin had begun to close the wound.
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