Grimm Justice

Y’all think ghost stories only happen in the dark. That’s jest yer ignorance.

Ruth had no bizness lettin’ her baby go pettin’ that mangy black dog. She knew it were a Keith-Tree dog.

I kin still see the blood a-drainin’ outta that Keith. Hanged men don’t bleed, Pa said, but I seen it. Said that man ‘tacked Dolly. Everbody knew she’d been steppin’ out with another feller. 

Keith sure loved dogs. They’s dogs at that tree, since.

Folks say he whispers to ‘em. Say they’s cursed. A-course that child sickened ‘n’ died. Poor thing, thrashing for air, bleedin’.

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Submitted to round 2 of the NYC Microfiction Contest. Awarded an Honorable mention. (one edit made to this version).

Coventry

Coventry

The smell of dirt took her back. Touring her father’s field. Glances from the field hands.

The Count’s cold hand. Her breast grasped like a heifer’s udder. Her father’s face turning away. The Count continuing business directives.

The bells were ringing to call her to vespers. She grasped her tools, headed back to the monastery. 

Through the kitchen, pausing as was her custom at Sister Ignatius’ semi-hidden, heathenish “Warrior Mary” statuette. Prayers not for chapel.

Sister Ignatius grunts, “the Count was unhorsed. Prioress says he dies tonight.”

Genuflecting. Eyes down. “I will pray for him.”

Shrewd Sister Ignatius.  “Me too.”

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Submitted to the NYC Microfiction 2020 competition, chosen in top 20 of category and moved on to semifinals.

Hyde, seek

These days I need a dire wolf
A shaggy protector from
Enemies and my own doubts.

Carry me mind-bound into a deep glade,
Lay me on the magic mound to have
Drained from me all the
Toxic civilization
Till I howl and
Run with her.

I need an uncanny familiar
Glass eyes reflecting away
Technology blue screen glare,
Nudging me to call forth the
Goddess with candle and cards,
Fire and magic, and salt and moon-washed grass

My totem animal has become some sort of
Golem, an animated LED screened monster,
That possesses my thoughts, shredding them
Into quarters, into 128s, into 1024s,
Until the bytes buzz like flies, and I am just a
Buzzing electric swarm.

Ridikulus. Expecto patronum.
Come forth, Isis, Athena, Kali.
This circuitry is a rational trap, and
my synapses are organic.
My belly makes life, and this is not life.
This out-of-balance world is not mine.