The Watchers in the Sky - Part seven

Corpse Giver Corpse Taker

The frontispiece to the 1831 edition of Frankenstein

Bess was whimpering for Fred’s attention

but there was no cure and no prevention.

He rushed to his husky to comfort her,

stroking, for the last time, her living fur.

Fred and Bess both soaked, dripping wetly red,

Bess was no more – the pooch was dead.

As Fred’s eye drowned in a rage of hurt tears

to that creature, his irked attention steers

With great anger, fury, hatred, and rage,

the beast inside Fred was let out its cage;

for another innocent had been lost –

he had to stop it, but what would it cost?

Maybe his life or an arm or a leg,

his existence had now become a dreg,

for his wife, long gone, and newly lost pup

made poor Fred ponder about giving up.

Fred fled from their room to the living room

and picked up a long, metal-handled broom.

New-Julie seemed not to chase him that fast,

instead she just strolled to the chairs and past.

Confused by this oddity – made Fred pause

as she bled from wound the dog did cause.

He smashed down, hard, that handle to its head

many times, so that his anger was fed.

She crumpled to the ground so lifelessly,

Fred enjoyed his revenge too happily.

Such tremendously mixed feelings and thoughts

Fred had felt as he danced to see its corpse.

The cadaver itself, stole to its feet;

confusing that Fred – his heart skipped a beat.

The same awful atmosphere had resumed

when the creature tore wide-open, its wound.

With shock-horror, Fred recoiled – he squirmed.

The thing, once again, at their bedroom turned.

Ignoring mister Fred after their fight,

to something else, it wants to say goodnight.

New-Julie jumped through the doorway, flying,

by the bed – where before, Fred was crying.

Her pale, white blood oozed thickly to the ground

and dripped on the corpse of the husky hound.

Fred saw this act, though did soon wise-up

as to her intentions with his old pup.

Bolting from his home in the woods, he ran,

to flee the monstrous. No forethought. No plan.

The creature’s wounds were rapidly healing

whilst the dog had resumed normal breathing.

With a pansy shine from that thick, white ooze,

the dog – now purple – could soon be set loose…

A poetry series by student DP


10 September 2021

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