Tuesday, 12 April 2016

Part XII and Andrew Smith

(Part 12 is a realisation you could say and providing some background about Andy which hasn’t been realised before)

(Our next poet is by my good friend Andrew Smith, who I know more as a musician in bands such as Plain Jane, August and M.A.N. to name but three and after realising the hints of the monster wrote his own very version of it with two pieces so far submitted and maybe a third afterwards)

Part 12

‘You know me?’
Andy looked at Ghana
His words trailing
Off into a fragment,

Rivering into confusion
Then a slight fear
Of just what he had let himself
Be conned into

Opening his eyes
To alleyways
He had previously
Dimissed as
Of no interest,

His job as a bank clerk
Now an silent shimmer
Fighting for attention
In his conscious

His mum and dad
Who no doubt
Would have been out dining
With in altrincham

And both of his brothers

Laden with something
He couldn’t understand
When she called him
The light bringer.

Movement in the dark, damp space

The air is stifling, a thickness against my skin
as I wait for my colleagues to enter
so the maintenance can begin.
The tunnel is cramped, dark and the stench
makes you gag and breath a rasp
the floor is wet with mildew
with no support on which to grasp
I hate this place beneath the streets
the muffled noises unclear
but there is one sound, a scraping sound
that fills my senses with fear.

It comes with stops and starts
a muffled sniffling as well
so difficult to sense the distance away
but sounds like something from hell
My hackles would ordinarily stay down
as we get all sorts of creatures down here
bugs, rats and turtles
'pets' flushed down at the end of each year
Its a relief to hear the laughter
banter to lift the air
but before they have reached the bottom rung
up ahead I see a red, angry stare.

The eyes look almost human
at a height not dissimilar to mine
but they squint as if searching
invisible teeth that start to grind
I would like to say I was brave
and my rational brain kicks in
but something just isn't right here
this silhouette appears humanly grim.

As my team splash into view
their laughter is cut off
the smallest of screams emits from one
as he appears to be held aloft
a dripping trickle hits the ground
a spray across my face
a metallic warmth that brings up bile
Is this blood that I can taste?!
I hear the others running
I can't move, my feet seem stuck
I've no idea into which tunnel they ran
As it comes, I'm out of luck.

My feet slowly take me backwards
and I stumble over my friend behind
he's lifeless, a lead weight that bowls me down
and I scream at what I find
people with eyes as red as ruby
feasting on his corpse
and still those eyes approach in front
those malice-filled hungry orbs
pain replaced by numbness
as my flesh is peeled away
The rat people are feasting

on a new kind of prey.

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