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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Darkness. Eyes widen more and more, trying in vain to see. Then other senses compensate, I hear the faint rustle of dry leaves. My body caught in the shock of fear, refuses to move, but I feel the wet tickle of a tear, a lonely path from eye to ear. Fast and shallow my breathing so loud, the throb of my head as my heart pounds. I know in my heart it is not dry leaves I hear, but the sounds his hands make as he leers. Dry hands rubbing his knees where he sits, the sick slither of his tongue, wetting his lips. Enough to frighten anyone, I think, but I have secrets that take me to the brink… …of insanity, reduced to a quivering shell. I know what is happening, only too well. Images flash through my mind, recent memories, Hands rubbing his knees as he looks at me. Not the first time and wouldn't be the last, If I don't do something, and do it fast. My adolescent legs,coltish and slim, shake, as he curls a finger, beckoning me to him. I try not to let the knowledge show in my eyes, Of the knife I have hidden behind me, against my thigh. It feels like cutting a chicken, a task done so often, his muscles tense in pain, then everything softens. The blood is hot as it splashes my face, coming from his neck, all over the place. I may be just a boy, but I've gotten strong. He didn't notice the tarp I put down when he was gone. A bit of duct tape, a quick wash in the shower, I was back in my bed in just a few hours. The weeks that followed filled with confused emotion, but he is still “missing”, and no one has a notion. I buried him deep, in our garden grounds, knowing the disturbed soil wouldn't be cause to look around. All these memories flashed fast through my head, but how could this be? My stepfather is dead! Finally I am able to move just a bit, reaching out to the lamp and flipping the switch. Involuntary, I shut my eyes, from the brightness that hit them while open so wide. Sitting up quickly, I look through blurry vision, Is it truly him? Has his corpse arisen? A stuttering beat of my overworked heart and in the light of my lamp, clarity imparts, What my eyes tell my mind, it wasn't him… not his ghost or his corpse, Thank God, Amen! Smiling at my vivid imagination, I reach out to turn off the light with a deep inhalation. A double take and my smile’s replaced by wild eyes and a grimace on my white face. Caught by the glint of light on steel, I see the knife I used to kill… …my hands shake and my sight begins to dim. It is the same knife I buried with him.
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