The Monster

Psycho, lunatic, freak on the street! I’ve been called these names by strangers and those that I love. All because I keep the monster at bay inside my head, not in the closet nor under the bed. Do not confuse the monster with a ghost that goes bump in the night; the monster does not retreat at the sight if daylight.

The monster inside me is blight, it lives in the dark and in the light. I can feel it pounding my body from within attempting to escape the confines of being human. There is no angel nor demon that can compare to this ethereal behemoth living in my mind. It’s as big as a planet and as small as a flea, too often I feel it crawling up and down my spine. It rages, screams, and slams all that I cannot see. It seeks to escape so that it can somehow “be”. Is it I that feeds it, or does the monster feed me?

It’s these two questions and more that keep me refilling the store. I feel it though, when it’s hungry for more, when dehydration is drying the crust of it’s shadow and it writhes in some kind of pain that I don’t quite know. Regardless, I feel this beast when it flickers it’s empty eyes; when it wants to fool me with a disguised, disguise.

This beast it tries, you know? Often times it comes, just as quickly, it goes. It shows up in moments when dark thoughts gather, thoughts about life that I cannot decipher. It cuts ties to decisions that would be rather simple, thus, thwarting civil comprehension. It wants me to choose the failing response so it can justify it’s need to falsely defend. It is not a dumb figment, it is sharp, cunning, and cruel. I can see it in the outskirts of my thoughts awaiting it’s chance to rule.

To rule what? That, I cannot find the answer to. I’m a mess because of what I do, not for what the monster wrought. Suffice to say that it’s not after me, merely a figment that, again, simply wants to “be”. Do I take pity on this sad abstraction that fights so intensely for solid absolution? Flexing and tensing it’s muscles of nothing, spreading it’s wings and vibrating. Smoke takes form and fills the void of nonexistence in my brain, wherein the monster leaves it’s mark of satisfaction through disdain.

The Monster has to be something, as logic would suggest. I can only say that it is rage, it is joy, it is love and hate at its best. Perhaps, it’s energy…nonsense…! That would be silly it would need to exist in the presence of me. Some child’s sketch done only in pencil of a shadowlike creature that leaves people skeptical.

What then, I ask, is the monster I speak of? Where and when did this phantom thief come from? Why does it not simply return to the shade? How then, do I get this ‘who’ to it’s unknown grave?

I rack my brain for answers to questions that have been plaguing me for years. The Monster insists on distracting me by delivering a ringing through my ears. This inner occurance shows itself in the ugliest of times. Then I must, outwardly decide, if indeed I fall or rise. Will the monster in my mind show it’s ugly face to those who persist. Or, will I diffuse this urge to break their faces with my fist.

The color red, the color red. It’s all I see when I get too close to the monster. Before I realize it I’ve taken action and I know not if the victim is live or dead. The color red took hold of my vision and painted black my winsome disposition.

Here they come now the names that are called. Weirdo! crazy-person! whacko! nut-job! Fight or flight I have no encouragement from those around me. Pushed to the edge the monster will “be”. I no longer control it, now it controls me. The color red is all I see, the Monster succeeded in devouring me.

I’m no longer in control of any of my actions and the feeling of life has surceased. The red in my vision has signaled the numbness and for a small fragment of time I’m at peace. I’ll come out if my respite to see what I’ve done, there’s no loser here but no one has won.

My heart it is racing at a quick pounding beat and a trickle of sweat speeds down my cheek. It stings a fresh wound, suggesting someone fought back. I’m frightened now because violence solves nothing. It merely proves I’m the monster, well, at least that is something. It proved they’re all right with their cruel accusations. It proved they saw through my meek constitution.

I’ll go away now to place that makes sense. A single cell, perhaps there I’ll be granted repentence. A place where the monster will feed greedily, until the day comes when another monster eats me.

By: Charles Poore

This is America

This is America, land of the free and home of the brave. Here you will be deemed as such, so long as it pays.
This is America, here your voice will be heard. Now please, stand at the back of the line and we’ll get to you as soon as we can.
This is America, where you can make your dreams come true. Now please, take this pill and don’t think about a thing.
This is America, in this land the only way to succeed is to lie. The honest ones are the losers and those who see this surely pay with their lives.
This is America, a land founded by slaveowners who fought to be free. Here, you will experience one ideal more than the other.
This is America, would you like fries with that? It will compliment the mainstream media’s nightly pursuit of spoonfeeding you crap.
This is America, worship whatever God you’d like, except for the ones that don’t need gold, live off the land, and suggest that you live in peace.
This is America, we’re about out of the baby boomers that built this corporate investment. So now we are going to say it’s ok to use a mind altering drug, but we are in control of it, so feel free to indulge.
This is America, your ideas for a better life are welcome, so please have a drink while you wait for the next reality tv’s newest production.
This is America, go back to sleep, we have your nightmares all mapped out, so just wait for us to tell you when to act hysterically.
This is America, where the silent dead that fought for the flag are used to tug your patriotic strings.
Welcome to America, land of the free (as long as you can afford it) and home of the brave (most of whom live underground).

Charles Poore

Aspie, Me


Everything is as it should be, but me.
All the world wants to be different;
How I wish they could only see.
See what it is that makes me tick;
the daily trials my mind endures.
That my thought process carries no real benefit;
the rigors of my intellect are never-ending chores.

I have many trains of thought, you see;
They all have many stops and stations.
To you, that may be taken metaphorically
To me, it’s the world, an endless destination.
I don’t say that to many folks (they tend to disagree)
It leads to many agonizing, frantic-conversation.

There is a name for this strange condition.
A name that took me years to find.
Those that share this have their own rendition.
To many, this blight may seem unkind.
To live in a structured isolation
That’s been built by each individual mind.

I’d like to thank Dr Hans Asperger
Whom took the time to identify us.
He sat back as a willing observer
Of several boys deemed mysterious.
More-so they were silent, smart, and clever;
These differences dubbed them, neurodiverse.

This arrangement gives to us a peculiar diposition.
One that lets us see the world in ways that many won’t.
For us Aspies, we have to process many different definitions.
One to live a “normal” life and one to live how others don’t.
No, we are not all the same. Again, each have their own rendition;
One’s a singer, one’s an actor, one’s a writer, and one’s a dolt.

As for me, I’m one that has to think twice before I speak.
I’m the damsel in distress and at the same time I’m the enemy.
I’m the hero of the tale, that upon realization, becomes meek.
I see the colors that come from sound, but, I can’t prove this absurdity.
I learn, obsess, and stay stone cold still, once every day, month, or week.
I’ll also meltdown after too much of people and high pitched frequency.

I’ll tell myself, after some time, after it’s gone away for awhile.
That I’m “normal”, I’m like the rest, and my thoughts are just like “theirs”.
I’ll be able to confine who I am and for a moment I may smile.
It doesn’t last though, my mind is a revolving door, or the Penrose Stairs.
I’ll have to breathe and be away from anything more than docile.
While on those tracks, thought-engines chug along, pulling my despairs.

Just know that I’m not dangerous and I don’t mean to be rude.
I’m locked inside my mind, you see, and I’m constantly expanding.
Making room in an endless place of evanescent pulchritude
Where time stands still and reality is dwarfed by careful handling.
There I go and build my world, spending an infinity of servitude.
So one day my words will be understood as more than nonsensical rambling.

By: Charles Poore

Red Rider


It was winter she loved the most. All the men would be riding their motor bikes. She could hear the rumble of their engines in the distance and when one would cut out, was when her hope would rise. The thought of danger of one of the mucked up riders caught in the woods always got her juices flowing. She would stand at her window and think about how she could warm up some weary, stranded traveler. Her daydreaming would sometimes cause her to lose her place in what she was doing, it was lonely living in the woods.

Whether or not she realized it, she still had the looks to land a steady man the old fashion way. She preferred to let fate run it’s course, and fate has proved to be unkind to her when it came to lost travelers. She imagined him, cold and alone, the last man that got left behind. Stumbling along her little hut, she would take him in and set him at ease. Once he loosened up, she would reveal that she lived alone. No doubt the thought of a witch would cross the mans mind, but her humble looks and attention to cleanliness would likely knock that suspicion away.

The thought of Stockholm’s syndrome always set her mind racing. Fate would bring her a mate, and she would allow her captive partner to they live free. Free to run in the woods nude in the spring, and go skinny dipping in the summer. They would make love under the lone willow that ruled as king of trees in her own little secret meadow. As long as everything goes her way, she would be completely flexible.

Romance left her mind and excitement crept up into her as she heard the faint sounds of someone repeatedly trying to kick start their vehicle. It was distant, but close enough to be in sight. She peered through her back window and could see her red rider. He looked frustrated, and she could see he was alone. “Do not engage,” she whispered to herself. “He will come, and you will seduce.”

The red rider appeared to have given up the fight starting his bike. She could see him looking around, as if he was hoping his companions could be heard. This deep into the woods, the sounds of engines would carry in the cold. Now though, only the sound of winters impending night silence filled the woods. “All the better to hear you,” she said.

She watched the red rider do his dance of diagnostics checks, until finally the thought to look around set in. He noticed her home and on came the head lamp of the bike. She could see it growing brighter as darkness fell over the woods. “All the better to see,” she said.

A flurry of thoughts raced through her mind as she prepped her appearance. “Nothing too over the top, nothing too loose, nothing too tight. Just enough make-up and a dash of some honey-suckle, and everything should be just right. My red rider will come to me, this lost little dear, will grant a wonderful night.”

She ensured the fire was warm, and inviting. Knowing her guest would be warmed up upon entering the cold. She looked through the window each time she passed, to ensure her red rider was still on his way. She noticed the light dancing as the darkness consumed all but the head lamp. She meddled around with knick-knacks to help ease anticipations slow draw.

“What’s this?” She said. Noticing that the head lamp was still, as if her red rider stopped. A sense of dread fell over her, and for a moment she thought her company had found some salvation. THUMP THUMP THUMP! came the sound from her porch, giving her a start, causing her to jump. She hadn’t heard those noises from another in what seemed like forever. “How polite, stomping off the snow before he comes in,” she said…red rider rapped at her door.…

She hesitated, and then came to her senses and quickly turned the knob, opening enough to peer through. “Hello,” she said. A muffled response came through the red helmet. She could see her reflection in the visor and was donewhat tickled ay what she saw. She opened the door more and Her red rider stumbled in. Heavy footed he thumped, ‘a man of equal stature’, she thought that will do just fine.

Her red rider strode passed, and she closed the door behind her, turning her back. A deranged thought crossed her mind, that maybe he would take her right then and there. That maybe he thirsted as much as she did. She turned to see her red rider bent over, struggling to remove his helmet. Off it came, and next went the band that held the hair in place. Then a flurry of red hair

consumed her vision.

At first, dismay filled her lonely heart once again. Disturbed at the thought of all this time…her red rider…a woman! Her dissatisfaction quickly subsided and a grin crept across her face, exposing her well maintained teeth. ‘All the better to eat you,’ she thought.


She was relieved to be out from the cold and couldn’t believe that the inside of this old cabin actually had such a well maintained interior. She was almost certain no one lived way out here in the middle of the woods. But, to her luck, it would seem as though someone does. At first she felt uneasy, until she turned and saw the woman for the first time without the interference of a visor. The woman that let her in quickly put her mind at ease, upon seeing her smile. It was happy and a welcome introduction, campared to the cold night she may have had wandering the woods.

The woman resembled her mother. Early fifties, perhaps a bit younger, with gray streaks complimenting her sheen black hair. The clothes she wore were very bohemian, like a hippies only more well kempt. Her rosy cheeks suggested that she was a pleasant woman in nature. She thought how beautiful she was, and wondered why she lived out here. She’d knock em dead at the local watering hole.

All this and a warm, inviting little cabin. It was simple and cozy. The stove was of the wood burning kind. Black, and pumping out some serious heat. A bookshelf that was home to what seemed like more books than she had ever read in her life. Handmade rugs, hand crafted table, everything, done by hand. Even the ladder that made its way up into the loft. No hand made phone, it seemed. No phone at all considering there was no electric.

“Hello, my name is Sonia.” The red rider said. “This is a bit unfortunate for me, I apologize, and thank you for letting me in.”

“It’s quite alright, honey. We all find ourselves in a bind from time to time. I’m Melody.” Her voice was soft and satisfying. “I don’t have a phone, as you can probably tell. But, at least fill your belly. And my home is welcome to you for the night.”

“That’s very kind of you. I should have learned my lesson from the last time I went out riding alone.”

“You ride alone? That could be quite dangerous.”

“I know, but I prefer the solitude. At least it seems you can relate to that.”

“Very much so, Sonia. I’ve been alone here for quite some time. It’s peaceful, and nobody bothers me, or even really knows I’m here.”

“Sounds peaceful. Humanity has kind of brought me to the point of wanting to follow in your footsteps. It’s sad, really.”

“Oh, I don’t even want to know. I left all that behind for this cozy corner of earth. Here, please sit. I’ll fix you a bowl of stew, along with some tea.” Sonia did as Melody suggested and plopped herself on the chair at the table. The cushion was soft and comforted her behind. It was like sitting on feathers. Heck, it was stuffed with feathers.

She watched Melody ladle some stew into a bowl, quite a hearty helping, she was rather famished. Afterwards, Melody grabbed another bowl and headed out the door. She filled it with some snow and then came back inside. She poured some tea from a kettle and placed the glass into the snow. “I have no refrigeration, so this is about as close as I can offer to iced tea.” She said.

“It’s quite fine, you’ve already done more than I could have hoped for. Heck, probably more than I could do from my own place.”

“Oh, what’s your home like?”

“The usual. T.V., lights, running water, appliances. It’s small, and I can barely afford it. Plus, now it looks like I won’t be riding much. I think my engine is seized. It’s a pisser!”

“That’s a shame. I wish I could help fix it.”

“I’ll find somebody, eventually. It’s just going to be a heck of a walk home.”

“Well, certainly not tonight, young lady. I insist you stay the night.” Melody wanted to suggest longer, but she figured the hint would be gotten by tomorrow.

“You’re right. I’ll stay. It’s saf…” Sonia’s vision blurred, and a feeling of drowsiness overcame her. She tried to stand up, but everything was heavy. The last thing she saw was Melody grinning slyly. Her hallucinations almost made her look as though she was a wolf. And then her face met the inside of her bowl.


It’s one thing to sleep in blackness. Its another thing entirely to wake up in it. She spent her whole life waking up and seeing the world. Now it was dark, and she didn’t quite recall how she got here. Was she in an accident? Is she dead? Could this darkness be Purgatory? If so, Purgatory felt a lot like too many sleeping pills and morning grogginess.

She moved slowly, only to find that her limbs felt like they were being weighed down by elephants. She could bend her legs but only enough to raise her knee to a small arch. Her own weight hindered her in the process and it wasn’t until after the grogginess subsided that she realized she was restrained. She felt the cuffs that wrapped locked her wrists and ankles to something.

The haziness began to wear off, as well and the name Melody ran through her mind. She wasn’t in Purgatory, she was being held captive. The sad truth is she would have willingly spent the night, and thought she’d like to come back and visit. Her panic set it and she attempted to struggle trying to break free. She was too well restrained, and couldn’t see anything. In her efforts, she kicked off the blanket that covered her, and she could tell by the cold air that filled the room that she had been stripped naked. The cuffs left a feeling of soreness. That’s what happens when metal meets skin.

She lay still, listening to the silence and feeling the cold air on her body. She heard herself breathing and the stillness of the outside was only broken by a winter breeze that shook the hibernating tree limbs.

“H-hello.” She said into the dark silence.

“Good afternoon, Sonia.” A voice said. Sonia tensed in surprise. She could tell it was a female’s, but not Melody’s.

“Wh-what is this? What are you doing with me? What do you want?”

“Oh, you lay still now and don’t you worry, you’ll be well taken care of.” The voice had a southern draw.

“Taken care of? I was fine! Where is she? Why can’t I see? Where are my clothes?”

She heard no reply other than a slow hush as the blanket draped her body again. The footfalls were silent, no sound of creaking wood until she heard her go up the stairs. Sonia laid there listening, and visualizing the thoughts going through her mind. She couldn’t move, couldn’t see, and after some time, couldn’t stop thinking about how badly she had to pee!

She yelled and hollered for assistance with this simple request, receiving no answer to her pleas. Holding it for as long as she could was absolute torture until she couldn’t fight the need any longer. She pissed herself, pissed the bed she was confined to. Then, laid in the warmth until it turned toe cold wetness. She felt humiliated and feared the worst was still to come…nobody knew she was here…. Tears poured out of her eyes, soaking the blindfold that stole away her vision. When the cold touched that, at least she knew she wasnt blind.

She laid there until she was shivering in a pool of her own urine and tears. Until her captor could become her only saving grace. The struggle now became a fight to hold her bowels. Laying in cold urine was one thing, but having to smell her own shit would likely damage her beyond repair. The worst part was that she couldn’t cross her legs to help cinch herself. Once her muscles fatigued from strain there wouldn’t be any option but to accept the call of nature.

The thought escaped her when the footfalls from above made their way across the floorboards and down the steps. “Oh my God, thank God you’re here! I have to go, please, let me up so I can go, I already pissed myself.” She said.

“Hush lass, it’ll be just fine, dear. Mother Eleonor is here to help clean you up. And take care of your…necessities, shall we say…?” She said. Her accent was British and very jolly. For a moment, this comforted Sonia, she pictured a sweet old woman in colonial clothing with daisies stitched into her dress for a design. Then she thought how silly that would be, this was the 90’s. Not even old English women dressed like that anymore, nobody did.

“Can you help me, Mother Eleonor?”

“Of course, that’s what I’m here for. To assist you in washing and your regularities. But first, I’ll need to get this stove going so you’ll at least have some warmth. That Melody can be so absent minded sometimes. She always forgets to accommodate our guests.” Sonia could hear her prepping the stove while she spoke.

“You call this, being a guest? If you don’t let me go, you’ll go to prison for kidnapping. Please, please let me go.” She said.

“Oh, that’s nonsense, once it warms up down here you’ll feel right at home. I’ll prep some supper and be back down to heat some water on the stove then I’ll have you all cleaned up, and you’ll feel like a whole new person. Besides, I don’t have the keys.”

“Well, at least untie me. At least give me something, please! One free hand, anything! Help!”

“I am helping, you’ll appreciate it here in no time. There now, the fire is burning and it should warm up shortly. You do your business, there’s no shame in it. We all have to go.”

Sonia listened as Mother Eleonor walked passed. Her feet crunched the ground and sounded as if she was stepping on dirt. When the first two steps creaked, Sonia’s voice took over. She screamed and shook, using all her strength to break free. Profanities, threats, and pleas for help until her throat was sore. She laid there and listened to Mother Eleonor move to and fro across the floor above.

The room did get warmer, loosening her up a bit. She could hear the fire and feel the pain in her stomach. Her muscles could hold on no more and she finally let go. She whimpered as it came out. The hot feces mashed into whatever she was sprawled out on. It filled her crevice and touched the lower part of her buttocks. She could feel the warmth of it near her thighs, it sickened her.

The smell reached her nostrils and more tears of humiliation ran from her eyes. She wailed for God to help, and still the shit stayed where it was. She began to choke on the mucous that ran backwards down her throat quickly causing her to cough. Her body jerked as she did and her defication mashed more into her body. It was slippery and now touched her back.

Her fighting slowed and she laid there, catatonic. The fire crackles and the old woman’s hums help to calm her down. The smell though, the smell kept her awake and there was nothing she could do but accept it and get to know it better. She fought the thought of her will breaking, but all she had left to hope for was something clean.


The pain in her joints felt like fire as the weight of her body joined gravity. Nothing about her touched the ground after what she was laying on was removed from under her. As it turned out, it was a cot that needed to be cleaned. Apparently Mother Eleonor thought this to be more important than her comfort. Through her pain she heard the faintest of sniffing, and felt the nostrils of an animal near her legs.

She forgot about the burning in her body and fear gripped her. The energy of whatever happened to be smelling her raced through her muscles. It was at her calf and she could only hope that it wasn’t something large enough to eat her. It crept towards her inner thigh and sent a tingle through her mid section. It huffed upon reaching the mess that was drying on her. The feeling quickly subsided and she felt the animal leave, disgusted.

Shorty after the unknown beasts departure a clamor came from above. The burning in her shoulders came back and she could only hope it was Mother Eleonor with the cot. She heard the steps creak.

“Hello dearie, I have something to help. The cot isn’t fully dried yet, but it should be whence I’m through freshening you up.” She said. Sonia heard a ratcheting noise and felt herself being lifted by the wrists. The noise stopped, then, moments later started up again. This time, her legs were being raised, and it felt as though they were separating even farther apart. It was uncomfortable, and she at least felt upright now. A cold touched her back but offered immediate relief from the burning in her joints. Mother Eleonor placed some kind of support underneath of her back. Sonia wriggled her back and fought through the stiffness of her joints to get to what felt like the most comfortable position she could find.

“I’m going to dribble some water on you dearie, you tell me if et’s too hot…or just right.…” A trickle of warmth rolled down her belly and passed between her legs, it was just right. Combined with the warmth, the running water sensation caused her to urinate again. “Oopsie! Just roight I take et. Good thing we’re giving you a wash, now idn’t it.”

“It’s just right, yes.” She said (terrified). Someone she didn’t know was about to do something to her that hadn’t been done by anyone other than her parents, when she was a baby. She had questions, so many questions built up, but all she could think about was getting the shit out of her itchy ass. That, and water…she was so thirsty.…

“Here lass drink this, you look parched.” She said. Mother Eleonor tilted Sonia’s chin back and the cup touched her mouth. This too, was just right.

“Thank you.” She said. ‘Did I seriously just say that?’ She thought. The water gave her strength enough to endure the next round of humiliation.

“Of course lass. You need jer fluids. Now, just try ta relax as best ye can.” She said. Mother Eleonor trickled water down Sonia’s body. It was warm and soothed her shoulders and arms. She could feel the woman removing her shame. The thought of another person touching her there had been quite different from what was currently happening. The relief from the itching was a godsend to her. Whatever was being used was fragrant and smelled like lavender.

“What is in here with me?” Sonia said.

“It’s just you dearie.”

“No, there was something in here sniffing me just before you came down.”

“Must be your imagination, we keep a clean home. No pests, no vermin.”

“It felt bigger, like a raccoon, or a dog. I think dried poop saved me.” She heard the cloth slap into the water and then a hissing cut the momentary silence “H-hello?” Again into the darkness her voice trembled.

“So, you think we got vermin here, do ya? You think you can keep a cleanlier home, do ya?”

“N-no, of course not. My place is a mess. From what I remember your home is so nice.”

“So you don’t like the things around ya now? Have I not been kind enough to ya dearie? Are you not worshed!?” Before she could answer the storm of footfalls raced up the stairs and clamored from above. She heard the clinking of silverware on porcelain. Her heart was now the muscle she focused on. If it beat any harder it would free her from her ‘shituation’.

The thuds from above moved through her and the stairs cried on this trip down. The sound of dirt scraped below her ears and an angry mothers presence resided next to her.

“I s’pose next you’ll insult my cooking.” A hot spoon was forced through her mouth and the juice from the food scolded her upper lip and chin as it dribbled down, landing on her nipple before it had a chance to cool.

“I’m sor-” her apology was thwarted by another thrust of hot ladeled stew in chunks being crammed into her mouth. The juices she couldn’t catch once again scolded her chin and chest. She coughed out the food she likely needed, shortly followed by the phlegm and slobber. Another spoonful clacked her teeth, she tasted blood.

“You gonna cry again are ya? Gonna cry and let this food go to waste? I’ll just leave et hea and tha vermin you think are down here will at least enjoy et. More wood on the fire for ya? at least you’ll be warm tonight.”

She heard the stove open and a wave of heat hit her right lattiserus from behind. She could hear more wood being put on the fire. When the metal grates clasped, her body stiffened. Swiftly the chair supporting her vanished. Her reflexes took over and she caught herself before the cuffs could dig into her wrists.

“I’ll be right back with ya cot.” She said.

Sonia breathed in fear and grasped to anything she could. She tried to pull herself up and reach for her blindfold. Her forearm could only fit so far through the cuff. She couldn’t touch her hands together no matter how hard she tried. Mother Eleonor came back down the stairs.

Sonia could feel her moving below her, setting up the cot. It fell silent. The moment was dead. A rush of steam surrounded her as Mother Eleonor poured the boiling water from the stove onto the cot. Suddenly Sonia fell and a stripe of heat touched her spine and the small of her back. She arched away from it in defense. She screeched in agony and could already feel the blisters forming.

Sonia settled into her new pain and the ratcheting began again. First, her legs were secured. Then, her arms, confining her again. “It’s cooled enough for ya now.” The bowl struck her right breast and she felt the food splatter across her torso and didn’t care. The heat on her back subsided and the food on her body would be there for her to smell later. Certainly more pleasant than shit.


‘All the better to see you’ is what whispered through her mind. She saw her captive, her red rider. She was sleeping peacefully. Her soft body was covered in now dried stew. Her arms and legs restrained emphasizing her helplessness, and that hair matched the embers that rose in the stove.

The room was hot and her skin glistened with sweat. She could smell her…she smelled sweet.… Much sweeter than the day prior when she was covered in her own refuse. She blamed herself, but it was all a part of the plan to captivate her captive. Isolate, cater to, and terrorize.

It was a curse that held her hostage in these woods and she wanted to share it with another. Her red rider would suffice, her youth and knowledge of the world outside of the confines of this cabin would help to lure others in. Just a bite would work, but only on the willing. A strange thought drifted through the she-wolf’s mind, maybe if she just asked, instead of this whole kidnap and reprogram plan. But, her other needs would not be quelled and she’d explode if the fear wasn’t first sifted out.

On all fours and as silent as the room above the she-wolf moved towards her red rider, listening to the girl whimper in her sleep. ‘All the better to hear you’, she thought. She sniffed at her helpless prey, circling her as she did, certain not to miss a centimeter. She decided her mounting point would be between the girls legs. As she climbed onto the cot the red tuft of hair caught her eye and tingled her insides.

‘All the better to eat’. The She-wolf began to lap up the food, causing Sonia to rouse and gasp at the feeling of a canine tongue licking her body. In many ways, the she-wolf was doing her a favor by cleaning the sticky rue from her stomach and breasts. Lest she begin to be consumed by the insects. She savored the salt of her flesh mixed with the meaty chunks of venison. She could hear Sonia’s heart thumping quicker with every second. The girls hiccupped gasping told the she-wolf that the fear was present, as much as it was a present.

When she was licked clean the she-wolf circled again in silence. She could see the girls body trembling from fear. She licked her arm and the red rider tensed away. She licked her ribs and the girl let out a gasp. The she-wolf indulged further and ran her tongue down the side of her body, moving down her leg. She ducked underneath to engage the tuft of red fur once again. “All the better to eat.” She spoke.

If Sonia could see the ravenous look in the she-wolf’s eyes she would have collapsed from fear. The initial touch of the canine tongue caused her to scream in disbelief and horror. She squirmed and the movement caused the blisters on her back to pop open. Her screams were quickly quelled when the animal growled, and let out a howl. Shrinking the girl with fear and delivering to her acceptance of what was happening.

The she-wolf knew she had her, it was only a matter of time from here on out. Kindness mixed with terror to break the red riders mind and spirit. “All the better to hear.” She said. She continued the assault on her tender parts. Listening as Sonia whispered “this is just a dream, this is just a dream, this is just a dream.” Her crying didn’t stop throughout the course of the night. When the she-wolf had taken her fill she licked the girls face and left her alone to quiver herself to sleep.


Sonia learned to tell the difference between day and night through the torments of each twisted figure that came to care for her. She had long given up hope in the distant echoes of engines that quickly passed through the trails. She believed they gave up their search by now, and this was her home. Weeks came to be counted by what she only could guess was a slack-jawed inbred whose voice she first heard when she woke up to darkness. The mind-fucks ensued as the girl would tell her stories of the wonders of these woods and about how this place came to be. It was the only night away from the wolf.

Mother Eleonor would cater to her in the day, leaving her scarred in some way. But, the pain would subside when the wolf licked her clean. The wolf was penicillin and release. Mother Eleonor was cleanliness, sustenance, and discipline. The yokel, known as Tammy, was entertainment. Sonia became institutionalized through her trauma. Tammy told her of Melody’s “condition”, that aside, that she was not a well woman in the mental health department.

Sonia acknowledged the gallows humor and chuckled hysterically at the irony that the trail She was riding on when her enh8ne took a dump, would have eventually brought her to her grandmother’s house. Here she was now in a fairy tale with the ‘big bad wolf’. The ‘he-wolf’ was a ‘she’ and this scenario was grim.

She was numb to the weight of the wolf on top of her. Having been flipped months ago it stretched her tummy and the blisters were licked away. Sonia supposed she should thank the wolf for this. For the quick healing saliva that prevented her from a painful infection. She supposed she should be thankful to Mother Eleonor and her kind humming, which put her at ease. Also, for flipping her back over after several days. Even Tammy should be thanked for opening her up to her current situations, despite how dire they seemed. All felt lost and empty until she heard the wolf speak.

The wolf arrived and the room felt hotter than it did on any other night. Sonia was dripping with sweat and felt uncomfortable, at best. The winter season must have been edging into the spring by now. But, it was still cool enough at night to keep a fire going. She could feel the fluids dripping down the side of her body causing a tickle and an itch. Melody, the she-wolf, could be felt looming over her. Her energy alone was enormous and then the claws scraped Sonia’s body ever so gently.

“Do you HEAR with your ears?” The wolf snapped.

“Y-yes.” Sonia answered.

“Do you EAT with your teeth?”

“Yes, I alwa…”

“Do you want to SEE with your eyes?”

“Yes. Please. I want to see so very much.”

“Do you value the healing, and the food, and the cleanliness of your home?”

“Yes, thank you. Thank you, thank mother, thank Tammy. Just please, I want to see…I want to see you….”

“Tell me you wish for freedom, and I can grant it. Tell me you’re willing to stay and I shall house you as you ask. Tell me you want more than to be a human, and all you desire shall come to fruition.”

“Yes, yes I want these things, I’m willing. Grant my wish and free me.” Sonia was telling a half truth. More than anything she wanted to be free of her shackles and was willing to agree to anything. After all she had been through she at least wanted to see her surroundings.

She felt a single claw dig into her leg. She could hear her flesh tear as the wolf marked her body from thigh to neck. Instantly a blinding light entered her sight as the wolf snipped the blinders from her face. She was given the privelage if sight and was paying for it, for it was not night, but day.

She tried to open her eyes but her sight came back slowly. She would open them and quickly have to shut them. It was pain, it was heat, and it was infuriating. More than anything she wanted to see the wolf, she wanted to see the monster and could only grasp at silhouettes that danced around the room. There! And then gone. Above her, and then gone. The beast was a black and silver blur, just as she remembered Melody’s hair.

Stiffening pain struck her as she felt the wolf’s teeth bite into her mid-section. The tenderest of spots on her body was on fire. She looked down and could see the yellow eyes staring into hers. Her blood dripped down her stomach and pooled into her belly button. She could feel the thick canine tongue wriggling inside of her bowels. Unlike a vampire that took, the wolf was infecting. Holding Sonia tightly with her teeth and filling her insides with the venom that only she-wolves carry, to turn the willing into one of their own.

When the wolf was through Sonia could feel the sickening pumping through her veins from her intestines. Her body tremored, clutched, and then her muscles turned to jello. Her insides burned and she imagined a flash of hot redness that would match her embered hair. She screamed in agony as she once again released all over herself. It boiled as it came out of her and it smelled like cooked meat, rather than shit. The she-wolf howled singing in unison with Sonia’s screams of pain. The day drifted into night and the red rider passed into darkness, being allowed only a momentary glimpse at her transition into a new life of that of a she-wolf.

By: Charles Poore

Last Month

I was low
Really low
Play out in traffic at night kind of low.

It burns my upper spine
Not so much about suicide
More so that I want to die.

Because I can’t relate
And I’m tired of trying
I’m tired of wondering why I’m not crying.

I’m tired of me
Not being NT
And I can’t help I think they’re all looking at me.

They’re not
I know they aren’t
And I know I’m not giving all that I’ve got.

For What?
A new spot?
All that I know is I’m home in my thought.

One day I suppose
In times delicate dose
All of my thoughts will be mapped out, exposed.

Until that then
Whenever that then
I’ll await the return of my low little friend.

By: Seigh Pten



Before I realize it I will be old.
Until then, I’ll continue my delusion,
That all I put my hands on turns to gold.

Not that I am speaking of glittering confusion.
Rather, an understanding of a thought so far fetched;
It unfetters humanity from economic institution.

Giving us reason to hold our hands outstretched
Without fear that helping someone has a price.
Trading greed for value so peace may be etched
Into the stone of our magnificent edifice.
When looking back upon ‘our history’ of OUR time,
I hope our children’s children realize some were nice.

That we cared to acknowledge the sublime
Utilizing the innate skills from both heart and mind;
Uniting our souls through harmony and rhyme.

By: Charles Poore

Mobile Man


He comes to this motel every Thursday, Friday, or Monday.
It’s not too bad of a locale, for the most part it stays pretty mundane.
I watch him though. He’s got long hair, and the same clothes on every time.
There’s plastic bags in stow, and a back pack that dangles behind.
He often flies up into the room, very rarely does he come out.
He must live a life full of gloom, all his joy, perhaps, fell victim to rout.
No one ever arrives to make his acquaintence, at least none that I have witnessed.
201, that’s the number he inhabits week to week, finding shelter from an unknown distance.
I wonder where he goes from here, his tags presume a close estate.
His clothes are indeed quite austere, suggesting business is not the date.
This mystery of a man has left me puzzled; arriving here from year to year.
I ponder if he has a clan and someone elsewhere to hold him near.
I can imagine this hooded lynx to be the whatever my inner mind sees.
But, what I think is irrelevant, to what may actually be his hopes and dreams.

By: Charles Poore