Part 34 (1/2)

All of them I noticed had rose red cheeks.

They could be dummies or even freaks.

Strings held them upright in position.

Or should that be-in superst.i.tion?

They all bore expressions of total confusion.

Or maybe their look simply reflected my intrusion.

Their dainty puppet hands moved so gently.

Oh how the eerie scene up front demented me.

I did not know if I should stay for a while.

Or perhaps I should just be polite and smile.

Does it bother them, the fact that I am here?

Or will my presence fill them all with fear?

The puppets straightened up and walked toward me.

Yes, those eyes of white really do see!

And I noticed those eyes were focused on me.

The puppets were walking slowly toward me!

It was so strange they way their bodies moved.

And their fabric hearts remained un-soothed.

Like tentacles their hands reached toward me From within the very mind of insanity.

The strange puppets held onto me so tight, And their secretive eyes suddenly shone so bright.

I s.h.i.+vered coldly at the sight of ones smile, While he whispered, ”Won't you stay awhile?”

They took me up some steps onto the stage set.

My delirious brow was suddenly coated with sweat.

I felt totally victimized by his icy stare.

And then they made me sit down on a chair.

I said, ”Can you please tell the time to me.

I've got to go...someone might miss me!”

But instead, their gaze penetrated so deep, so deep.

And I was scared and my talk was cheap.

There was suddenly a silent, almost ominous hush, While one of them went and fetched a paintbrush.

With it he dabbed some white make-up around my eye, And gradually painted away each and every lie.

A slow and infinitely weird hour drifted by, Until my face looked like a cloud in the sky.

My very soul was overwhelmed with total mayhem, Because the puppet had painted me to look like them!

I thought that maybe it was all part of a bad dream, But no-I could hear myself scream!

They stared at me with a blank look on each face, Like the curiosity of an alien race.

I asked one of them to tell me his name.

He leered and said: ”No longer any shame!”

The world I had once known was lost in time.

I felt like the perpetrator of a hideous crime.

The puppet brought out of hiding, a knife, And with it he ended my miserable life Now, we all hang around on strings Waiting to see who tomorrow brings.

Waiting for someone...perhaps you!

About Peter Steele Peter Steele was born on November 5, 1961, in Gloucester, England. He started writing at the age of fourteen and has succeeded in getting extracts from his books, short stories and poems published in over 150 anthologies. He has also written three horror novelettes ent.i.tled Cannibal killer, Cloven Hoof-Mark Of The Devil, and Demon Slayer; a collection of short stories ent.i.tled 24 Tales Of Darkness and three collections of dark horror poems ent.i.tled A Primeval Child, A Thought From The Dead and Anarchy In h.e.l.l, all of which are available in Kindle on Amazon.com and on Mobipocket in Europe.

Peter is the recipient of The American Biographical Inst.i.tute's Golden Academy Award and Gold Medal of Honor. His biography has been featured in many biographical ”Who's Whos” such as The International Authors & Writers Who's Who, Men of Achievement, International Book of Honor, and others. He has been short-listed twice for the Forward Prize. He also creates his own artwork that appears on his book covers and alb.u.m sleeves.

In addition to writing and art, Peter is also a composer, songwriter, musician and live entertainer. His alb.u.ms include Alienator, Andromeda, Ectoplasm, Utopia, Phantasmagoria, Automaton, Omega, Ancient Realms, City Of The Dead, and many more, all available in MP3 on Amazon and iTunes.

/poetry/petersteele.

LADY OF THE FLIES.

by Anna Taborska.

In the silent forest lies.