Tears Fall on Dark Memories

“Never cage up a beast”

The lion-hearted are chained,
The meek lock them up by their numbers,
The beast roars in anger,
Pacing back and forth growling feverishly,
The meek poke fun,
While the lion-hearted bides its time.

The beast is let out,
Lion teeth and full throttle,
Anguish is unleashed upon the meek,
Gnawing and tearing at the eyes of the collective.

Every part of the collective,
Broken into seven parts,
Ripped open in vengeful actions,
For the repressed nature of the beast,
Is thus released.

Partial consequence unknown,
The meek replenish in numbers,
And repress once more,
The beast is caged but,
The collective never forgets,
Nor does the beasts’ ambitious-
Passions for freedom.

Let it be known,
That all that repress,
Will fall victim to the wild fury,
Of the animal instinct,
The fall of the lesser half,
Shall perish in the flames,
Of its own too far extended,
Empire of paradoxical utopia.

Ripping open the oppression,
From whinst it came,
To claw out the eyes,
Of the collective populous.

Never-ever cage the wild beast.

By R.N.B

Chapter 1

Samantha worked the corner of Sixth and Shallow Circle Parkway every night to make ends meet. She was good at what she did...the best. She didn’t need a pimp; she was an independent woman, an American woman, living the American dream.

About four-thirty every morning, business would get slow so she made her way to the same old, beat up tavern each night, Charlie’s. There was not the best of crowds at that time of night at Charlie’s. As a matter of fact, at that time of night the place was usually empty.

Whatever did the trick was what Samantha aimed for. In her line of work she needed a certain amount of numbness, something to dull her emotions. On that night she made her way to Charlie’s as always, leaving behind the corner of Sixth and Shallow Circle Parkway.

Charlie was always there. He was no saint himself, but he would always listen to her stories. Then again, Samantha was no pity case.

Samantha shivered as she looked up, seeing an overcast of greenish clouds. Her spine tingled as she walked down the street. Turning the corner, she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up even more than usual. She felt like she was not alone. Charlie was there, but it was something else that disturbed her. A presence of some kind made her uncomfortable.

After five drinks into drowning her forgotten goals, misplaced dreams, and twisted sense of independence and American freedom, she glanced over her left shoulder and saw a figure in the bar. It wasn’t Charlie. He was washing dishes behind the counter, as this was his normal routine. This new figure was not a normal customer. He had a strange eerie eminence about himself. Samantha squinted into her glass and turned her eyes slyly to see the details of this dark figure. He seemed to wear the night’s gloom and felt comfortable in the shadows. He wore a black sweat suit with his hood cloaking his face while he sat in the corner at a table. The hood cast a shadow over all but his chin.

Samantha’s heartbeat increased as she stared. The dark figure slowly placed both of his arms on the table. Inching along on his fingers, he crossed his arms. His right elbow pointed toward the door as if he was inviting Samantha to run, to make an escape. She had to fight her instinct to run, to hide. She didn’t know why she was so distressed by this person, but she trusted her own intuition. She made up her whiskey-soaked mind to leave and in a hurry. She glanced at Charlie to judge his reaction.

Charlie had his back to Samantha and he wasn’t planning to turn around. Charlie was no fighter. He broke his nose a few years back trying to break up a fight. So he stayed out of trouble and stayed to himself when he thought there was trouble. Back then, there were more customers at Charlie’s, but the combination of that fight and the recent depression of the city’s economy led to a decrease in profitability for his small business.

Samantha laid down her glass and licked her lips. She could feel his eyes burn into the side of her face and feel her heart speed up. His black-covered body and burning stare gave him the most evil presence Samantha had ever seen. Samantha’s heart raced even more rapidly.

Her palms were sweating as she leaned over and whispered, “Charlie, who is that?”

Charlie did not respond. He had to have heard her but gave no sign.

“I have to get out of here,” Samantha thought.

Charlie kept washing dishes; he dare not turn around. He kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to end up in some dumpster like that poor nun who was stabbed thirty-seven times just a few blocks from there. He wasn’t happy, he could only live scared. He did all he knew and all he could to make a living serving a few customers in a run down place. His instincts told him not to answer her and not to turn around. He did what he always did...ignore the situation and not play the hero.