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The poet

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posted on Feb, 28 2005 @ 11:06 PM
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I have written this over a 2 day span..what do you think?
He drives through the rain, left side of his face twitching, other eye in a crazed state of awareness. Not clamping shut for the very end of the age. Radio's on, he doesn't know why, mind stuck in its red haze. He's sick of it, desperate, doesn't quite understand.
Grunts and mumbles and stutters amidst the vehicles stopping as he attempts removal of the belt. Then extraction of self, as the door refuses to cooperate. Unlocks, pulls, pushes, shoves, stumbles. Knee's wet. Torn jeans, can feel it on his knee, dirty water sticking to his leg hair. He furrows his brow, grabbing his face and squeezing, wanting to cry out in agony. He doesn't understand, why everything has to be so difficult.
Moonlit night lost in appreciation, clouds rolling along far too fast. A fog setting in across the bay, his coat a little small, his frame a little pale and skinny. He trudges forward, ears cringing at the sound of his boots skidding along a missed step. Ankle still hurts, he fell earlier. Still such a blur. How long had it been?
He squints, trying to read the house number, doesn't care as his feet afford the luxury of unannounced movement. He doesn't bother to wonder of the time, only the opportunity.
He knocks, pounding furiously as the door, neck craning to search the second story windows above. A light goes on, someone does open the door, a woman. Flowing red hair, almost too late of night, he looks right at her with dull eyes. She hesitates.
"… Can I help you…?"
He bites his lip, thinking himself lucky, nervous, oh so nervous. His hands fumble for the shred of paper in his pocket, withdrawing it, forcing himself to read the smudged words even as the rain pelts the page. He tries to curse under his breath, stuttering, always stuttering.
She shies away.
"Um, sir-"
"N, n- NO!"
He winces, shaking his head, scolding himself, she gives one more chance, eyes welling up with fear, treading on thin ice. He's desperate, unsure, why does it have to be so hard? He tries to read it, again, but can't. Never could. Didn't work the last time, maybe will never work. The thought kills him inside. They always laughed at him. Always, always, always. Then the laughing stopped, and the crying began. He's sick of it all. He wrote again, it took him that much. Away with the darkness, but not to be.
She tries to be subtle, closing the door slowly, wanting so badly to lock it and slip inside, maybe call the police, strange men shouldn't be-
He catches it, and it infuriates him. Again? Why do they always…
He grits his teeth and falls forward, forcing himself in, shouldering the door back inside. She screams, eyes snapping wide open, eerily matching his as they both tumble. He grabs her by the throat, she claws at him, but he is numb, a hollow husk left to the world.
Frustration sets in, he tries to yell at her, tries to explain, how things should be, why does it have to be so hard, but the words don't come, they're in his mind but can't make it past his lips. This only further aggravates him, his knuckles whiten as she gags violently, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.
Her eyes close as her arms go limp, her strength receding, her feet no longer scuffling futilely against the floor. She mouths a prayer to her God, her salvation, her Savior.
Bam.
A shot explodes, she screams even before she can take a sweet breath, the killing hands falling off, blood now spattered across her face. A cop stands at the doorway, a black silhouette against the nighttime sky, revolver still smoking, the smell pervading the room.
She cries, sobbing violently, the hero barks something into his hand.
Another officer passes the intruder's vehicle, engine still running, tire on the sidewalk, radio still on. Cackling something about another body found across town, coinciding with the escape of 'the poet', a former asylum-dweller.
Later one of his works will be read, of a raven longing to be free. This will even be against the backdrop of his victims' portraits. One of them a man, not what he was looking for. Bashed his skull in with a hammer. Left it at the scene. No facial structure remained.




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