In another life we worked for the mob.
We are the people from the old country. The place before here. Some say we have old souls. That we come from another time and carry the weight of a multitude of lives. The legends are kind. For we smile when we hear your scream. Laugh, when you beg. And just when you feel we might let you go. With a grin we cut your heart out. To see if it is real. And when we are done and the last drops of your blood spill out, into the silver saucepan, next to the pile of perfectly trimmed fingers, toes, nipples, and ears. (We are barbarians, but we do have style.) You will laugh for lack of a response. You thought you might enjoy this but we are writers and this, you must not forget.
From a collection of short stories in development: Stories Best Left Untold
No comments:
Post a Comment