As I dragged his carcass adrift the fields of midnight sands I prayed a single word. Redemption. Repetitive like a back-alley porn show. A single black crow swears a bitter verse from atop our backyard’s wicker tree house in-sync with a chorus of a thousand dancing crickets. The tune of a funeral bell sounds from a church across the street. Those sounds were the heartbeats of the grim reaper coming. Mother earth looked on with glee opening a grave way for death’s next eternal visitor. My daughter’s killer.

I looked forward in anticipation to watching his last breath bleed out right before my eyes and onto my basement floor. The next flood will wash that pool of abstract coagulated red river away in silence. I still could almost taste despair in our basement’s small office room but to see blank eyes twitching , pleading his very life on my hands wasn’t a feeling I expected. Flickering bulbs glimmering from room to room held shadows to moths portraying giant shadowy apparitions upon the ceiling. I feel like the boogeyman.

Hate and Love. This repulsive capacity to grasp me in horrified acceptance spinning a bit of truth to the deed I had just done. But I start to like this. A complete mind-fuck that spins me in chivalric dance and kisses me like a misplaced shovel down my throat. The transformation overhead hanging in clouds of gloom exhibiting this very second the death I offer to the night. Fireflies break dancing in ballet form in pure darkness , lighting my path to the resting site I had earlier dug up. A heartbeat seeks and pounds deep in me for whatever was left of humane tendencies I once harbored. Am i crying?. Is guilt about to murder me in cold absence?. Questions filled secluded answers. I’m a father avenging the death of his daughter’s pedophilic killer. I had begun to think of my little baby girl.

Today was her fourth birthday. My wife and a neighbor’s wife had a party for her and her friends at a local chuck e. cheese. I was purposely running late so I could show up at the last minute and surprise her. She’d been asking about a dachshund puppy dog for the last 2 months but was torn between that and a personalized storybook with her own name in it written by the only person she ever trusted to write a story about her , her father. I got her the dog and planned on revealing and reading the storybook later that night at her bedtime.

The grim shine of the north star glowed white light as I broke out of a trance induced stupor , feeding me hellish pictures of my daughters remains I came to find outside the parking lot of that chuck e. cheese earlier this day. I shifted eyes downward upon a dismembered pedophilic at my blood-soaked boots and lit a match. Like a symbolic candle on my daughter’s birthday cake , he burned as hellfire and brimstone washed away this adversarial child rapist in a child’s playground here in the middle of our backyard. All I can think of is “Happy Birthday Saira”……

Cimmerian Street

Dead Moon Circean

Polymnia

Sweetfire Greeneyes