PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I viewed, as from a superior perspective, a group of five beings, seated in a circle.

Their bodies were vaguely humanoid, but the four limbs of each were disgustingly

lacking the usual and pleasing proportion.  Their visages were twisted in a rictus of

amusement that can only be described as an obscene travesty of both the

human and the humane.  Despite the recoil of my horror, I could not force myself to

look away, no matter how much I desired that.  This was not reality; nor was it a

dream---but, however its existence can be defined (which I leave to poets and

philosophers), my eyesight had become unusually and tormententingly accute.

   They were passing among themselves, in turn, a decapitated head, in some

form of grisley and gruesume amusement.  A briefly passing glimpse of the

ragged flesh of the neck suggested that the head had been torn from its body.

No sound emerged from them as they continued to play their inexplicable game.

Finally, one of them stood in obvious triumph, lifted the head as a prize; and, I

saw, with a shock for which no scream existed, the face on the head was my own,

but the eye sockets were empty and still bloodstained; the eyeballs, perhaps, had

been tossed to a nearby shelf or perch, from which I seemed to . . . look down.

Starward