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Inside the Bomb ShellTrapped without the fuel to fly
Cold within its burnished coat
Chilled in every attempt to flee
Cutting through the currents
Taking lives far less hollow
Than that of its own prisoner
Bang, bang, the human skull
Steel than will not ever bend
Ears burn with an eerie whistle
The arc has finally peaked
It seems a fathomless depth
And then down it comes again
Faster with Earth's mighty pull
Sustained only by outside forces
Dead metal is made malleable
Splintered to shards in the grass
Flames lick the dirt and ravage
Then burn out, leaving only ash
And the noble flight's passenger
Bloodless - stained with sorrow
Due for the next run in fifteen
Once more the lifeless shell falls
Welded tightly shut around again
Set to an infinite-loop of launch
Then peak and fall and crash
Stand, return, begin once more
Guts wrenched on the coaster
Eyes long drenched and dried
Heart beats fast then deathly slow
Mind too lost to ever be found
Prometheus' plight is born again
Victim broken head through heart
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More