To my Child,
They will come for you,
Those human like you, but curse you with forked tongues
they will come for you.
They will rob you of your heart and ask for you to smile
As one who they’ve tried to steal from, they will come for what cannot be taken, only given.
Protect the magic of your Mother and hold tight the strength of your Father because you are the some of their Love
They will come for you my child because you are different; a growing light in the dark
They will do all they can to dim you, devils’ shelter from anything bright.
But remember you are love, and though they might battle you with hate, their power shatters from the power of Love.
My child they will come for you, so keep your gifts close.
They will tell you that you are just one of a million, a tiny light in the black, but they do not see the universe you hold, and what they do not see shall blind them, they will come for you.
But though they come, let them and know even when I’m not in view.
I’ll always be there for you.
©Kwamè “Amir” H.
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Love Fires Love fires burn a tender flame, Inextinguishable, No matter the storm or rain. A small spark, A slow flame, And then a blazing furnace, When love fires burn. Forest fires will eventually go out, A candle will burn itself out, The coal in the fireplace will go out, Love fires once lit, Will […]
Our love could out shine a million star lights, and still it would never be enough.
i remember that rainy saturday night well will never forget your sister was supposed to be watching us, however, she was rather absent from where we were; i remember how you forced your lips against mine in a kiss although i protested no you didn’t listen— never understood why my voice didn’t matter how you […]
Fumbling through the night, I notice something in the distance; flashing red and blue lights just beyond the tree line. As a black man in America, I’ve never been so happy to see those flashing lights as I was now. I ran as fast as I could, like a moth to a flame.
There was a sigh of relief, maybe Kassidy was able to call for help after all. Perhaps, just perhaps, Kassidy is with them, and that sicko was sitting in the backseat with his hands behind his back. Finally, this nightmare ends, and the only monsters I’ll have to contend with were the ones that involve Claire.
Reaching the lights, there was only silence and snow. I was completely over this damn snow. The lights came from the black Sheriff SUV that had visited Kassidy and I a few days before the storm. Sheriff Walton, Alice Walton. Had Kassidy ran and got help and Sheriff was here to rescue me? “Hello? Hey, is there anyone here?” I called out, but there was only silence. “I need help! My wife may be in danger.”
Walking towards the beefy vehicle, I could see that someone was in the driver seat, their window was down. It had to be the Sheriff; I quickly ran over.
Alice Walton was sitting behind the wheel with her head thrown back, her neck sliced open. The Sheriff was made into a human Pez Dispenser. Dried crimson gore of flesh and viscera exposed. I was frozen in place at the sight of such violence, as the clouds gave way to the light of the moon the horror was even more gruesome. There was a gentle breeze that gave life to the dirty hands of the gnarled tree branches around me. A weird thought ran across my mind; Blood seems black in the moonlight.
Something rustled behind me, and before I could turn around something sharp and heavy came crashing at the back of my head. I buckled, bouncing off the Sheriff door, from the sheer force of the blow. There was a serrated, scorching pain emanating from the back of my skull. Before the shock could subside, there was a second hit just as strong as the initial whack. I collapsed further onto the car door with my forearm and hands absorbing most of the impact.
I shrunk to my knees into the cold, wet snow. Turning to see the cause of my pain; the moon, full and sleek, loomed high into the chilly night, a figure shrouded in a shadowy blur towered over me.
“Mister… Knox?” The final blow folded me into the black.
Each step was felt mundane, the darkness was starting to become more disorienting. I no longer knew how far or how close I was to the road or even if I wanted to backtrack to the cabin, just how far had I marched? This was bad, really bad, shit! I’m in a fucking nightmare right now; a simple romantic trip has somehow turned into something out of a damn Stephen King novel.
There’s a reason why so many horror movies are set out in the woods after the protective warm rays of the light are gone. There’s a brooding dread of not knowing what can’t be seen in the cold dead of night and what you can’t see can see you. What the eyes can’t see can play terrible tricks with the imaginations of the mind pulling forth the darkest boogie men and things that goes bump in the night we’ve grown to rationalize from budding youth into adulthood. But my boogie man was real, Mr. Sullivan Gray; every twig snap, every slight breeze of the wind felt like it was being made by him somewhere out there; stalking me from the shadows eager to do to me what he had done to Roxane. Part IV
When I heard the whicker of moving brush and the soft snap of a twig sound coming from the impenetrable unknown night of the woods, I panicked. A deranged killer was lurking in the shadows of the night, and with it being so dark in these woods, it felt like he was just a hand grab, no, more of breath away from me. My pulse was up, and every hair on my body was standing at attention, but it was just wind, and my imaginations piecing together what my eyes could not wholly see. The moon hid behind heavy clouds; a single beam of my flashlight served as my candle in the dark, but as thick as the night was that’s all it was, a flickering flame in the cavernous black. I tried to reason the noise as the nightly wildlife, but my mind could only think of the hideous snow thing that sat in the back of the cabin. I shone my light at where the sound seemed to have come from, my hand clenching the shield, index finger at the ready on the trigger. There was nothing but snow and woods,
“Get it together, Nero, don’t let your emotion obscure you.”
“Never discharge a weapon clouded with emotion.” I could hear Mr. William schooling me now; it was comforting in a way. Part III
Double-clicking the x2 icon on the key fob, I popped the truck to the Mustang. A sleek, edgeless tactical black box the size and thickness of a thesaurus was tucked in the right of the trunk. There was a dial pad like that of a telephone styled in the center of it, with two small oval-shaped glass on each side of the pad. There was a tiny red light just above the number two, indicating that it was locked. Less than a year old, at the time it was the latest in biometric security to deter unauthorized usage. I set both mines and Kassidy’s even though I knew she probably wouldn’t come near the weapon I still wanted her to be able to get to it if push comes to shove.
Kassidy felt it was unsafe to have it anywhere inside the car where the kids could become curious. Even with the black box being secure with our thumbprint, she didn’t want to have them asking questions or being curious as to why Daddy needed a gun. Of course, I could easily give the copy and paste kind of answer most parents would give their children. “To keep us safe.” However, that answer isn’t as accurate as we want it to be. I knew that guns never really kelp anyone safe; they level the playing field. The very moment you draw a weapon, then you’ve accepted both the possibility and responsibility for someone dying. Though you don’t think about it, you ultimately have made the judgment that the person or persons at the end of your muzzle life are less important than that of your own and the person you are protecting.
Pulling the box from its corner, I rested my thumb onto the reader; within seconds, the light went from red to green. With the lock disengaged, the mini hydraulic arms pushed the cover open. The Smith & Wesson M&P shield 9-millimeter lay undisturbed between the thick gunmetal gray foam lining with three fully load clips nestled underneath it. Each clip held about seven to eight rounds giving me a total of twenty-four.
It was both light and heavy all at the same time as I lifted it from the foam bedding.
“Always remember to respect the weapon and in return, it will respect you.” Mr. Williams would always preach. The M&P fitted firmly into the creases of my hands, even while unloaded it still felt like pure power, I had my fingers wrapped around.
Taking one of the magazines from the safe, holding it with an index grip; I slid the magazine in a solitary smooth motion, then pulled the slide back racking the first round into the chamber. A small orangish like fin popped up signifying that weapon was armed with a bullet now resting at the ready in the barrel. Holding the now active weapon in my trembling hands, I was unsure if the shaking was from the cold getting to me or the fear, maybe it was a cocktail of both? A simple romantic trip has somehow turned into something out of a movie. Part II