**********************************************************************
Wake up.
Her voice resonates within, darkness threatens to overwhelm, her hand steadies mine and the world becomes focused,
Robed in crimson and short of breath, dark hair fading into the gloom of the city; we have to run.
**********************************************************************
The silvered moon threatens, a charged atmosphere, impending catastrophe unspoken on lips but visible in gaze and twitch.
Citizenry weary, threatened, fear lined faces fading.
Streets blur – fleet of foot!
**********************************************************************
Hastily we enter a room, devoid of walls or ornament - private.
She speaks unclearly, words less said but understood. Panic makes her flush; rage drives her beyond fear. I should not be here.
Clutching the crimson robe, the attire of my hunters. Assured that they will find me, that my fate will be assured. Hope remains, I can make it home. We just have to…
**********************************************************************
… cage was spiked, stripped of emblem, laid bare. Fury marked her eyes, the vulnerability they sought was not there.
Muffled vox swam in the room. My hunters spoke in words not known but understood. My motives for penetrating the city unclear, a threat. The woman defying their magocracy – examples must be made.
**********************************************************************
Softly first, the long drone of the siren drowned the city. The words not spoken arose in cacophony.
A bestial claw detonates a window – gore beyond comprehension – one hunter becomes two. A second beast – moon blooded – joins the feast. Eyes glow hungry, true epicureans.
A hunter faces the new threat, chants in a heady, eldritch tongue. The creature distorts in pain, heartbeat drumming, melodious crunching.
A tasteless rug steaming on the floor.
The hunter faces us and begins to…
**********************************************************************
… are screaming. The lights flicker and the air thick with copper. From the night I am being watched.
Attired as hunters, crowds part. Fleeing the scene, escaping our hell – we are experienced prey.
A crossroads marks our stamina. Exhausted, filthy, and courting collapse. She readies her weapon and prepares for an assault, man or beast.
I hear her shout as I witness a pair of eyes approaching from the dark, hued in sickened gold, bloodshot and hungry…
**********************************************************************
… shaking me. Screaming how and why. Retching and perplexed, a steaming lump of flesh twitches at my side – I retch again.
Blood calling to blood, we merge into the dark. Howls mark kindred fury, a hunt redoubled.
Quickened caution guides us to the portal. She describes a cyclopean gate, marred with gaudy statues of the Goddess, reminding all of her divine authority – authority absolute.
**********************************************************************
Hunters stand sentinel at the portal, protective wards and defensive positions. Robes moist in crimson, the long night shows no end.
A thunderous howl emanates from the hills, precursor to carnage. This fury more than bestial madness, there is purpose, there is hurt.
She grabs my hand as we charge for the portal. The hunters turn and…
**********************************************************************
…bolt from his chest, three more twitching masses of flesh lay before me. The smell sickening, a fate worse than death.
We ascend the stone steps, a cocktail of blood, sweat and mud.
She hugs me, deeply, with a melancholy longing. The rage slipping, vulnerability found.
I am to return, to come back for her. Be the hero in a future tale.
The portal is viscous and unpleasant, a strong sense of drowning in thick…
**********************************************************************
… cast in sweat and pale pall, gasping for air, surrounded by terror and shadow.
Dream fades and memory alludes, my Mother had been dead for years,
A question on mind, heart and lips remains, did I fail to save her?
About the Creator
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Why Black History Matters in America?
The United States of America is celebrating their 250th anniversary in 2026. I'm proud to be an American and as someone who was born here, I wouldn't imagine myself living anywhere else. This is a country where opportunities are possible. Where anyone can be successful in anything they desire to do. Equality, community, and togetherness are the backbones of what America is and should be about. However, we have an administration who wants to erase and disregard those who have made positive, meaningful impacts in our country, specifically Black figures, such as Martin Luther King, Jr., Rosa Parks, and Maya Angelou. President Trump and his administration have been constantly complaining and fighting against what they call the "Woke agenda". They use this excuse as a distraction from other issues they refuse to address, such as the high cost of living, climate change, and inflation. That equality is dividing America, when in reality, it's bringing us together. Being woke is not tied to a specific political party. No matter where you stand on the political spectrum, you can still care about other people and their plights. Compassion and empathy for others isn't tied to a political party, either. We were taught as children to treat others the way we want to be treated and not judge others because they're different from us. Caring about others isn't a personal attack on your beliefs. It doesn't make you any less of a person. People who are easily offended over African American figures, past or present, or anything related to it, are grasping at straws. Current and future generations need to know who people like Harriet Tubman and Shirley Chisholm were, especially in the classroom. Black History is part of American History. It should be recognized, not hidden or forgotten. Besides, you can't shield children from everything, just because your feelings are easily hurt.
By Mark Wesley Pritchard 4 days ago in The Swamp
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