Cloaked in subterfuge, damaged Psyches rampage, seeking vengeance, retribution, infamy. Latent hostility, wearing masks of tranquillity, erupt in blazing guns. Bullets of anger ricocheting through learned halls, spew satanic hatred, instantaneous death. No longer hiding under beds, or dark corners, the monster all children fear is real. He rides the bus to school.
Adrenaline flows, nostrils flare Scents of mating in the air.
Another glance, the age old dance begins. Grandma's Hands Grandma's hands were steady as they found the needle's eye, Always light and gentle when they soothed a crying child. Grandma's hands wore blisters as they planted turnip seeds. They were never idle with thirteen mouths to feed. Grandma's hands clapped loudly as each child finished school.