The Killing Games

The Killing Games

It began with laughter in the dark

a sound that cut through the air like glass

shadows stretching too long on the ground

and a smell of earth freshly turned

They came in masks that hid no eyes

faces painted with cruel delight

their hands holding things that shone

and dripped when the moon leaned close

It was not about winning or losing

it was about who could make it last

who could draw the moment to the edge

and keep it trembling like a held breath

When it was over the ground was full

and the air was too quiet to breathe

the masks lay in a heap on the road

their colours still bright in the morning sun

The footprints led nowhere at all

as if the earth had swallowed them whole

only the trees seemed to lean and listen

to something still moving between their roots

Those who had watched from the shadows

never stepped into the open again

for the games return without warning

and the players are always the same