#31ShortHorrors – PLUNGE

October 9, 2015


There is a certain type of child

Whose ears don’t hear, but shake

He doesn’t see the future or

Connect the dots he makes.

This child is named Precocious

Or Monster, Brat, or Heathen

This particular Scot lad

Was Christopher Stephenson.

Always with his fingers in the sauce

His feet would dance

Unfortunately one field trip from school

Cost him his pants.

He also lost his shirt and jacket

No shoes found on his feet

For Christopher was horsing round

The crags at Arthur’s Seat.

Like his brother years before him

Gravity showed Chris

The laws of physics yet unbroken

He fell down the abyss.

Don’t whimper cry or moan, young man

You kinda had this coming

Never list’ning as your teachers

Begged “Eyes open, danger’s looming!”

No matter your cause of death

We’re happy you are here

Your brother Ian needs a minion

He’s feeding off your fear.

As you will feed from next week’s dead

The energy abides

Until it is transferred to armies

Ruthless and unkind.

Our army grows voluminous

And structured every night

We’ll soon be prepped to take in

All the souls who’ve taken flight.

It’s quite a monumental task

Gathering up the lost

Administratively a mess

Traceability’s aghast.

We do our best to sort them out

But soon the plagues commence

We’re training new ranks thoroughly

War’s coming, no pretense.

So here’s your snack and here’s your drink

It’s transparent but familiar

OJ and saltine crackers

Brain tricks to ease your nerves.

Your mum will be here shortly

To fight beside her sons

Don’t worry, she’ll feel better

Once she’s arms’ reach of her loves.

Ian’s here to take you on

Tour of facilities

I have no doubt you’ll be impressed

With our capabilities.

You weren’t made of iron

Oh, Christopher the Scot

Soul’s energy in concentrated

While your body rots.

But that’s the way it works here

You’ll soon be comfortable

Bombastic, hyperactive

You’ve joined our Great Round Table.


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