Death At the Door For Sinister Contest
A slice of darkness scarred his face
the killing knife a glimmer caught in hand
she stumble-climbed at double pace--
Imagined warmth in family land.
The key slid in –the door-- unlatched
She slammed the door behind her back
Her hearing keen, the silence matched--
She had avoided this attack.
Shed her purse--threw down her books
tossed off her coat, put on her gown
Took a cup from off the hook
Grabbed the whiskey and sat down
Why had she ventured into this game
Why had she dared to call her fate
Boldly flaunted tawdry fame
That drew the stalker at her gate
With no one to hold her tight
She felt no comfort and no worth
And so she set her pen to write--
This viscious villain to unearth
Rich men poor men--Mattered not
But predators who stalked the weakest prey--
The clever bastards never caught
Their random victims fell each day
Her plan at first ignored his name
Portrayed the killer without flash--
Enraged him now to play the game
Teach her lesson with pinache.
Computer flowed, the story done
Hit send to rush it to her boss--
This would be the killer’s last
His masterpiece-- her deadly cost
The writer toasted her last drink
The Killer conquered lock by lock
She smelled his hatred in her ink--
As her death struck—on ticked the clock.
Copyright © Victoria Anderson-Throop | Year Posted 2013
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