My enemies stiffen as I casually stroll into their camp, alone. I ask for that which they have taken away from me. My words are soft and quiet, yet they are a veiled threat, the quiet predeeding the storm. My request is met with resistance, which is what I expected. I slowly remove my whetted sword.
My enimies lie stiff and in peices at my feet as I causally stroll out of their camp. Their leader, satan, glares at me with a face full of hatred, anger, and death. His blood soaked eyes asking "why did I let him live, why"? Without giving him a second glance I reply to him..."You are not my kill".
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Chills run down my back and shoulders while I am seated under the AC vent. I shudder as Louis Armstrong's worker drones scurry mindlessly around me cleaning that which is perfect already, and she comes to mind. I see her clearly curled up in a little ball reading a book all alone. Suddenly she's startled and staring into my eyes. That blush and smile is replaced with a thousand yard stare. She shrugs and keeps reading but is distracted because I have invaded her thoughts...she remembers, as if from a dream, me sitting in the airport and then suddenly staring into her eyes...I shudder from the cold.