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Razorbladed Beauty
by D. Xavier Bari
I.
She was beautiful once.
Eyes of the deepest blue,
long, blonde hair,
smile of ivory white
slightly brighter than
the creamiest skin.
Now there are blades
instead of soft white
thousands of blades,
small and large,
interconnected like
a nightmare clockwork.
This night is unlike the others
she attacks this night without
remorse
no hint of what she was
on her midnight stallion,
the scream of metal everywhere.
Hear it approaching,
but do not look,
eternally stained with hate
and the blood of victims
the noise from gore-crusted hinges
bearing down upon you.
Do not look at her,
the legends they speak,
at what now is her
a wraithearless, eyeless,
crying a deafening wail
without a mouth.
The scream is your scream
twisted inside your mind
as it lurches toward you
drawn by a fear not ordinary
the fear as you see her,
the source of her rage.
She was beautiful once
now an awkward, wretched horror,
cursed to be so by the jealous
the petty-minded who spited her.
Now she rages against all
in the armageddon black.
II.
The world becomes a death-tunnel,
as the fleeing former-revelers
try to escape her deathly charge.
Turning down smaller tunnels as alleys
into unknown dark for escape
better the murder rats than her.
Sometimes it can mean escape...
but often she (if it can be called that)
follows them through, trapping them
they fall to creaking blades joints
cowering, peeking through fingers,
screaming, pleading at a merciless fate.
Always novel, as to avoid boredom
this time just to slice their feet away
and watch them crawl and bleed to death?
Hanged upside down, to guess a last meal?
Just their heads to trigger body flops?
Or simply impale them so they slide off?
He hears their cries in the distance,
knows she is coming for him like them,
but yet he remembers: "Do not look!"
Knowing that his fear is raised,
knowing she will sense it, dismounting,
knowing yes but still he does not look!
Drawing closer, it (that was she)
pays him no mind in passing
though he feels a slight gust
as a blade passes by his throat
the warmth that trickles down
his shaking legs is not blood.
As the beast draws away
still screeching in the distance
he can almost feel the full moon
smiling down a bright spotlight
on the one who survived
the most certain of deaths.
But then the noise stops,
and without thinking he turns,
seeing the beast confronted
by something most unexpected.
A faery, armored warrior stood
between the creature and the woods.
Majestic in slight night-breeze,
long-braided golden hair flowing
down past her breasts as her shield
falls noiselessly to the earth...
and each hand begins spinning sais
belonging to a long-vanquished foe.
III.
They circle in eerie, semi-erotic dance,
taking each other's measure slowly,
as ghoulish samurai in a battle's wake
the slightest motions(forward!)
and the duel has begun
limbs flying at hyper-quick!
Parries and glancing blows,
lethal volleys nudged aside,
the demon, though faceless,
wears a posture of confusion
at one that does not fear it
fighting with such vicious grace!
Razor-knives and sais at speeds
too fast for eyes to detect,
the lemmings they circle and talk,
now unafraid to bear witness
to the horror that has been met
by the beauty of heroic might.
On and on the combatants twirl
the beast extends more and more
limbs reaching out from its body
more and more its worry grows
attacks from every direction
while the faery deftly deflects them.
One of the revelers screams in support
and for a consequential instant
resolve and concentration breaks.
He brains the idiot who spoke,
knowing already what has happened,
the faery staggers too near the brush.
The trees are sometimes evil
one mighty, twisted soul-oak
reaches down with sickly branches
surrounding the two as if a cage
the smaller twigs sharpening,
then thrust as spears into flesh.
The body of the slender valkyrie
now glistens with bloodtoo
as well as sweat, but no matter,
her arms are free and they fight
though her is body pinned motionless
as razors continue to extend
now difficult to contend with.
Deadly metal tendrils extend,
wrapping around bar-branches,
from the north and south
and all sides toward one
curving through like snakes
after a wounded, tangled animal.
The blades bear down in descent
one too many grinning, spinning,
a fatal buzzsaw upon the faery
her expression doesn't change
will against will she fights,
believing she is righteous.
As the crimson splatteres
everywhereeverywhere
there are no righteous beauties.
He looks away quickly
but not quickly enough
it knows the fear he knows.
And it approaches.
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01/04/2002 Posted on 01/04/2002
Copyright © 2024 D. Xavier Bari
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