Black Petals Issue #82 Winter, 2018

Home
Mars-News, Views and Commentary
A Nowhere Friend-Fiction by Roy Dorman
Broken Image-Fiction by Andrew Newall
Monster-Fiction by Paloma Palacios
Salvation_Fiction by Scott Dixon, Featured Author
Scream-Fiction by Anthony ('Tony') Lukas
Surviving Montezuma-Fiction by Kenneth James Crist, Chapters 13 & 14
The Foundling-Fiction by Roy Dorman
The Girl Who Isn't Talked About-Fiction by James Gallagher
Beggar's Curse-Poem by Alexis Child
Marco-Three poems from Christopher Hivner
In Line at the Terminal-Four poems by Michael Keshigian
Ghost Poets-Four Poems by Jerry McGinley
Killer Clowns-Four Cryptid Poems by Richard Stevenson

Marco

 

Christopher Hivner

 

Marco.

      Polo.

Marco.

      Polo.

Marco.

      Polo.

Gotcha!

      Po . . .

Shhh!

      . . . lo

Quiet.

      Can’t . . .

hmmm?

      . . . breathe.

Marco.

 

The Rules

 

Christopher Hivner

 

The sign was posted:

“Do not enter.”

with a human skull on a ledge

for emphasis,

but I had never liked

the rules.

I stepped into the cave

with a flashlight

and a kukri,

knowing I was either coming out a hero

or bleeding to death in the dirt.

I was met at once

with a choice

between three paths.

I took the center

for no good reason.

My light beam bounced off the walls,

showing me nothing

except psychotic images

created by the rock formations,

until I came to the wall

lined with bones.

They may have been human,

hard to tell, since they had been

partially digested.

I felt warmth emanating

from the left edge of the pile;

they were fresh

and I was close to the creature,

close to status

or near death.

I should have used caution,

but instead

I barged into the darkness

like the idiot I am.

The first bite

was into my shoulder;

fangs dug through the muscle,

ripping out a hunk of meat.

Dropping the flashlight from my now numb hand,

I was plunged into complete darkness.

With my good hand

I swung the kukri back and forth blindly,

until that hand was

enveloped by the creature’s mouth.

I yanked my arm back,

but two rows of pointed teeth

had me.

When they bit down

my hand disappeared and I fell backwards.

Gushing blood, with no weapon or light to see,

I shouted my question to the monster,

“Do you surrender?”

The creature went quiet,

the only sound in the cave

was the drip of my blood onto the stone.

A hot wave of foul breath

washed over me,

then I felt something hit me in the chest

and drop to the floor.

The monster chuckled,

producing a rumble throughout the cave.

I heard him move away;

the deeper into the cave he went

the louder he laughed.

I took a step

and kicked whatever he had hit me with.

I bent down and found

my hand,

mangled and broken.

I picked it up,

making my way along the stone wall

toward light.

I had broken every rule

of the cave

and common sense

to come out neither

a hero

nor a corpse.

The creature still lived

and I was still

a nobody,

but I did have

a story to tell.

 

 

Wandering Eye

 

Christopher Hivner

 

An eye forms

in the blue-white clouds,

watching me

and what I’m doing to you;

so I wait

until the cloud reforms

into a wispy fish.

Don’t look so scared,

no one’s watching anymore,

we’re all alone.

 

 

Christopher Hivner, hailragnar@verizon.net, www.chrishivner.com, of Dallastown, PA, who lives and writes in Pennsylvania’s wilds, not the tropical island he’d prefer, wrote BP #82’s poems, “Marco,” “The Rules,” & “Wandering Eye” (+ BP #71’s “Sand”; the BP #62 poems, Psycho Joe’s Body EmporiumSymbioticaThe Challenger, and When I Arrive; the BP #53 poems, Follow-Up Appointment, Gasoline Roses, and Until They Dissolve. His stories and poems have been published here and there. A collection of his published ‘08 horror short stories, THE SPACES BETWEEN YOUR SCREAMS, was reviewed in BP #54.

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