Heading Home

Shadows ferment and deepen as I walk home. I explore the confines of my mind, searching for distraction, even one word to riff with, to spin and disassemble, but all is silent. There's no noise around me either. It's like being wrapped in cotton gauze and tucked inside a bottle. 

My desire to explore is met with stiff resistance and I continue on my path, straight as a skeleton's ulna. Soon, a precious light comes into view, growing as I near. That's when I hear it. A choir of angels. I realize that I have wings and lift into the air, free at last.

The Serial Killer

I approach my victims with stealth and murderous intent. One by one, I pluck them from their destructive and self-absorbed lives.

For the most part, they never see it coming and before you know it, they are struggling for air, legs flailing until they are, at last, still. Later, I will discard their bodies and start again.

It may be a futile attempt given how many of them populate the area, but I do what I can to protect my precious flowers, no matter how lacy their leaves have become. Damn beetles!