"She's a witch! She's a fiend!

She's in league with the devil!

Grab your torches and pitchforks,

And we'll banish this evil!"

They pillaged and plundered,

They torched and destroyed.

They drove me to darkness,

My vengeance deployed.

I sought out a witch

In my darkest despair.

Sold a piece of my soul

To avenge, so beware!

For I'm about to become

Your darkest nightmare.

With a sorcerer's curse,

My fate has been bound.

My dealings in death

And decay will astound.

With a kiss from my lips

 And a breath from my lungs

The dead will arise,

And, to my will, succumb.

The spirits, they clamor

And haunt at my side.

I'm their mistress of death!

And my will, they abide.

You once thought me dark,

Accusations from greed.

Gaze on this monstrosity created

From your dastardly deeds.

With my army of dead,

I'm retaking my home.

Amidst the carnage and rot,

I'm building my throne.

From my legion of corpses,

Flee in madness and terror.

Perhaps your shattered psyche

Can reexamine your error.

From your rapacity, I was created.

I'm a witch! I'm a fiend!

Now! Amidst the death and decay,

Bow down to your Queen.

Floating above the forest

Tiny and blue,unseen

Anger building inside

I'm going to do something mean

Slip a little powder into a giant cup

A fleshy hand reaches towards it

Gulping, adam's apple bobbing

Then realization, trying to spit

A cloud envelopes the affected man

Then a rumbling yell that almost reveals me

Pressing me flat like batter in a hot pan

Giggling, I fly away fast

The man, turning blue, spots me

His eyes bulge and he bellows

Trying to grab me as I swoop past

Laughing aloud I retreat to the forest

Taking refuge on a high branch

Feeling joyful at last.

To be that which creeps not by night but beneath a shade of awareness. She is openly displayed; her charms, physical, emotional, intellectual, pieces of the person who is whole, sum of the person who is empty. She does not appear in dreams for there is nothing more objective than her vision of reality.

Perhaps I should remind you that she does not flit in shadow for thieves are there, murderers are there, criminals who enact unimaginative sins. She despises these for at least two reasons. Her movements are lofty and proud and unrepentant. In fact, her actions are so subtle, so insidious, that even she is unaware of her motives. She must have moments of lucidity surely but I wouldn't know for sure.

She drains the loins but only to administer a steady dose of poison upon the spirits of men. The nearest emotion to joy she possesses is to observe a brokenhearted man, how he fumbles for words, how he lowers his eyes, how he drinks until he forgets himself. Her arteries grow bulbous as the venomous flow of satisfaction travels from head to toe.

She is not shy but she may act so. She is not vindictive, at first. Many an unsuspecting male has staggered to her charms like mice to a scorpion. She will smile, she will openly do so, but she will not cry without witnesses for her greatest cloak is the virtue of other women. This is her armour, her perfect alibi to remain loved but unlovable.

Her skin is pale but it is not for wont of the sun, she basks in the rays of her beauty, however, her vanity is not that she's beautiful (for all women are beautiful) but that she knows it's precise value and what can be obtained with it.

Upon the crackling shells of men she treads with feet as bare and smooth as the sea, her hair aligned with the whispering winds, her eyes afire with disingenuous passion, her thighs as deeply rooted in earth. She is all elements, for she is woman, but not all women are her.

Would I enjoy being her? Does she enjoy it?

Monstrosity knows neither choice nor joy.

Could I be her?

We all could be her.

The ocean called

I answered

Giving it all of me

In the protection of water

I'm safe

From the devils above

Deeper and deeper

I swim closer

To my long lost identity

The waves embrace me

The tides carry me

From my enemies

Searching

Deep inside me

For the truth

Then in the darkest nights

The scepter fell into my hands

I held on to it tight

The darkness fled

Revealing a tunnel 

Of bursting white light

The tiara rests on my head

Snug, not to be moved

I was born to be this way

Daughter of the sea

Forever free

The oceans bows to me

With a gasp I am born 

    of darkness and death

Hunger to dine 

    on the living's last breath

Travel by moonlight, 

    sleep during the day

My madness to feed 

    on the dull and the gray

Disdain for the pulse 

    of life in mankind

Loving to leave 

    all mortality behind

Finding my dreams 

    in darkness' embrace

The warmth of the blood 

    and the death that I taste

In a coffin I rest 

    never do I expire

When the sun rises 

    it's there I retire

The moon shines instead

    on my hunt every night

The blood that I spill 

    catches her light

The evil within 

    takes over, runs wild

Embracing the sin 

    as I dine on a child

Mercy no longer 

    a taint on my soul

I slay another 

    so that I am made whole.

(Of course this is fiction. I wouldn't really dine on a child.)

The ghost wafted into the monster bash

The monster said, “This ghost is toast!”

The witches said, “He’ll be part of our stew!”

The ghost disappeared into mist so blue.

The monster’s eyes saw an eerie sight

and began monster mash in the night.

Twirling around like mashed potatoes,

trying to trap the ghost in his toes.

Ghost comrades floated in drizzled haze

to vampire feast to rescue friend from maze.

The monster rose from his slab in a flash

and continued to do the monster mash.

The witches and monster all tried

to grab ghost by his britches wide,

because all his body was see-through,

Dracula rose out of his coffin as crew.

Igor rattled in, dragging his chains -

they all rushed in to help him maintain

the monster capturing the ghost

at party where monster was host.

They latched on to his suspenders

figured he was invisibly slender

and popped him in to the toaster

to make the ghost into toast.

The toaster popped up with most

of what they imagined was vaporous ghost

they spread him with nutty peanut butter

danced the monster mash as they muttered.

The wad of peanut butter did zoom

floated all around the room.

But the diaphanous ghost

who was made into toast

was nowhere to be seen

although they could see his jeans

as party goers finished their bash

doing the monster mash!

100 years in each backwoods step

We enter white wooden door, into classic cabin,

Cynically, “jagetit?”—rage, "Yes!"—

In pulse rubicund skies, elongate the only window

Suck down these anecdotes immediately

We know in our deepest deepest hearts this is the last hope

Creep sneering, .. I breathe lighter and lighter,

Arrest flaring nostrils approaching

Swallowing chests until the last bit slinks, throats

Claw crawling cure, fleeting splays grind,

“What's wrong..”—“What's Wrong!?!"—

Silver elixir fails, hairs sliver out

And grinning reflection, beast emerges.

"well, C’mon RedWolf! You are nothing without me.”

Fanged in howls ricochet

As shatters of the ruddy evening

And the window, just in pieces

Double-swift 100 steps back through the woods

To be a wolf, and compassionate, in these times, is not a simple thing. 

To take on human form, at times against my will, is a burden.  It hurts.  A human body is narrow and tight, like being bound with chains. I would not wish it on anyone.

There are so many conflicting needs and desires and loyalties.  To howl and run at the head of the pack, over the frozen snow, chasing a deer and bringing her down in a snow-filled coulee, tasting that first hot spurt of blood from her throat:  there is nothing more lovely, more savory and sweet. 

There's so much in the life of a wolf that you cannot share, nor appreciate, nor even condone.  I accept that.

In human form, I stay on the periphery, the best place for a writer.  I owe my thirst for image and metaphor and the clashing splendour of words to no one, except time and fate and the changing weather.  Is every writer a wolf, disguised? 

When I disappear for a time, no one will notice.  Except my mate, the Wolf Goddess.

She is the blessing of my existence.  That I met and loved and mated with her is a mystery to me, but a fortunate one.  She scares me to this day, with her beauty and her power.  And still she loves me, she needs me:  the greatest mystery of all. 

I am quick and hairy and savage and fortunate. 

Against my will, a man, but first:  a wolf. 

I reach up to grab the arm of Gabriel, the angel who pushed me. He pulls his arm out of my reach and I fall. My silvery wings wrap around me, blocking some of the wind. The wind still roars in my ears as I fall. It actually happened. I didn’t expect it to happen, but it did. They cast me out of heaven. I can see the small silhouette of Gabriel, his golden brown hair glowing in the sun. I feel something wet slide down my cheek. I have seen the humans do this before, what do they call it? Crying.

I hit the ground hard and I feel my wings slowly fall to my side. A fallen angel, that’s what they would see. A cast away. An outsider. I manage to sit up. I look around. I had fallen on the roof of a skyscraper. Shouldn’t I be dead? Shouldn’t my wings be gone? That’s what happened to everyone else. I think as I stand up. My chest ached and I felt a sharp pain in my leg. I make a weird face, not used to the pain. I limp to the door on the roof, at least, I think that’s what those wood things are called.

I make my way to the bottom of the stairs. I feel like I could fly again. I fly the rest of the way down. Once at the door I fold my wings and use a glimmer, they look like a backpack. I walk out, limping, the pain almost unbearable. I gulp and make my way to the exit of the building. The lobby is bustling with people. Suddenly I’m not there anymore, I’m in… Hell?

“Hello Cameron. Welcome home,” a deep voice whispers in my ear.

I turn around to find a dark haired boy about my age standing in front of me. I study the boy as he walks around me. He tsks softly and shakes his head. What was wrong with me? Is this…. Lucifer? I question in my mind and meet his soft blue eyes. He was perfect, almost too perfect. He stops walking around me and sighs.

“This won’t do. I can’t have a new member of my court wearing angels clothing. Why don’t we find you something else, maybe black, or red,” he says and offers his hand,

I hesitantly take it, not knowing if I can trust him. If this is the real Lucifer I can trust him. What if he’s an angel testing me? I start to pull my hand away. He smiles kindly at me. He gently takes my hand and leads me to a room. The room is full of black and red clothes. The boy lets go of my hand and nods toward the clothes. I step in and look around the room. I find a pair of black leather skinny jeans and a loose fitting poet shirt. I look at the boy and he nods. I find a small room and change into the new clothes. They fit so much better. I follow the boy to a larger room with weapons. I find a sword that is the perfect weight and put the sheathe on my belt.

“Now you can defend me against the angels,” the boy says.

“I-I’m sorry, b-but,” I stutter, my voice hoarse, “w-who are you?”

“My dear, I am the angel, Lucifer,” he replies.

I smile and throw my arms around him. I pull away quickly, realizing what I did. He just chuckles and smiles at me.

“I-I’m sorry sir,” I manage, my cheeks hot.

“It is alright Cameron. You chose to stand up for me, you have earned the right to hug me.”

* * *

I growl as I block an attack from Gabriel. I slash at him and he falls. 99 I say in my mind 99 angels dead, 12 more. I look at the 12 other angels. They are all advancing toward me. I growl and grip the sword. One of them attacks and I stab him and the one behind him. I pull my sword out, hands covered in blood. 10 more. Two more attack from opposite sides. They go to stab and I step back causing them to stab themselves. The rest run, well, fly. I grin. I defeated them.

I return to Lucifer and smile at him, “It is done.”

* * *

He kisses me and pulls me closer to him. I smile into the kiss and wrap my arms around his neck. He loves me. I’ve always loved him and now I find out he loves me. I pull back slightly to look him in the eyes. I smile at him.

“I love you,” he whispers, grinning.

At that moment I felt the gates of heaven close to me forever. The End.

Hysteria.

hysteria hys·ter·i·a (hĭ-stěr'ē-ə, -stēr'-)

n.

1. Excessive or uncontrollable emotion, such as fear.

Is that why I thrive on the concept?

Fear is a chemical at which is only derived from the mind.

Maybe the heart.

But pointless, nonetheless. Which is why as I feel your pure, unmasked terror, I feel no need for remorse whatsoever. Your fear is strictly your choice.

Consent was involved, if you must.

I can make the beads of sweat trickle down your succulent, unprotected skin with the appearance of my teeth, the tremors of your limbs will be apparent with a glimpse of my nails.

Your blood-curling screams of terror will melt the matter of your mind with the sight of my demented, bloodthirsty eyes.

And as you lie there, taking your last, unnecessary breath, my cackle will ring in the distance.

"Why so serious?"