The grizzled general grinned,
this was it. The enemy stood no chance.

"Alright men, chaaaaaaaarge!"

The ground shook with their thundering steps, the sky split from their bloodthirsty roars. The bravest of men would've sent his chainmail chittering from the shakes at the sight of it, yet the enemy stood their ground. In fact, they held their positions as if they were frozen to the sands.

Seconds before impact, the general realized something wasn't right.

It was already too late - on either side of the charging column, the arid land sprouted with life. Not flora nor fauna but full grown men sprang up, tossing away their dun-dyed coverings while simultaneously readying their javelins.

They loosed them at the charging men just as they met the armored dummies they'd erected days before.

The general ground his teeth as the left and right edge of his company collapsed. His left, then right eye twitched as the flanking forces squeezed against what remained of his army.

It was over in minutes. His men, decimated.

He'd never lost a battle before.

He spat, cursed, then urged his horse forward at a gallop to meet his fate. He'd finally been outmatched.

The glow of streetlight bled through rows of aluminum,
streaking the scene in shadow.
An off-season quiet stirring in the bones,
and the intermittent flash of a moth's wings.
The echo of cicadas drowning out everything.
A hum to follow you home.

The dimpled back of the banshee that haunts your hollows,
as inescapable as the back of your eyelids.
The acid in your veins, the same pH as the bile you spent your youth spewing onto unsuspecting plants. Poor things.
Pouring whatever you can down gullets, gutters, toilets -
fancying yourself freed from the fiend that had been keening deep inside your bowel.
Romanticizing the expectorant as some kind of exorcist, ridding yourself of the demon you spent the entirety of your childhood feeding.

At some point you will have ridden all the rides.
Sampled all the options.
Tasted every entrée.

Your life, an archive of reviews
compiled into a guide
that led you nowhere.

Dragged nails across thin snow, clawing for dirt,
leaving trails like staff lines.
Dead leaves landing like notes;
A song of anguish.

Steeled with treated temperament.
Prepped by tempered expectation.

Danger of the arranged meeting with unknown entities.
The sting of a stranger.
Venom of anonymity.

A crash course in coercion;
The fall of Rome.
Murphy's law.
Devastation.