the refrigerator
In a town, so very, very small,
With citizens about as smart,
As a midget is to tall,
Or a giant is to short.
Once upon this very time,
There was this teenage Boy.
Average, with hair of lime,
His name was Rod Roy.
A very, very average Kid,
With very average stats upon a page.
Soon, all normality is rid,
With no average left to gauge.
He lives alone, with His average mother,
In this average house, with door of red.
He has no sister, dad, nor brother.
What else could be said?
In average town X, that's none too large,
This Boy does dwell happily,
And He is left mostly in charge,
Of himself, in His two-person, family.
But on a very strange afternoon,
While in a forest, this Boy did walk,
The sun was engulfed by whitest moon,
And before Him, a demon did stalk.
The Boy did show surprise.
"How weird, to find a demon,
Perhaps it's merely a disguise?
Perhaps not and I should run?"
The demon, with his skull-white face,
Covered head to toe in darkened shroud,
Was in fact of a demonic race,
And from his nose blew a smokey cloud.
"Whatever do you want or need?"
Said the Boy, so very scared.
The demon's arm seemed to bleed,
From his form, offering an apple red.
Forgetting about his fear,
The Boy scratched at his ear.
"Take this apple, from a stranger?
Is it safe or is it wise?
I pray to Jesus, in the manger,
And to the God of the flies."
He gently took possession of this fruit,
It turned from red into silver,
And from afar, he heard a silent lute,
While before him grew a bloody river.
(This sort of thing was very strange,
To this very average male,
And such a bizarre concept, was out of range,
For all of His senses, seemed to fail.)
Unsure of best how to continue,
He eyed the Demon, eye to eye;
He stared down a red and blue,
With his pair of darkened rye.
The apple, raised up to His face,
And took a very juicy bite,
Disappeared, the creature from another race,
Completely gone from sight.
The Boy, unsure of what did unfold,
Continued on, on a very empty walk,
Unaware, His soul, was just sold,
Or the gone demon, that continued to stalk.
And He felt, so very empty...
So very, very empty...
~
The Boy watches from His perch,
As 'he' drops off the dairy.
The man named Mr. Birch.
Rod knows the man is too merry.
For The Boy had followed Birch,
On a very cold and rain-filled eve,
As 'he' travelled to a church,
And kidnapped a 10-year-old child (Eve).
The Boy tracked the milkman's car,
To an abandoned parking lot,
And watched 'him' take Eve too far,
Taken too far, for she was just a tot.
The Boy did, in horror, stare and gape,
At the strange man, full of cream,
As 'he' performed, on little Eve, rape,
And make her cry, and scream, and scream.
(Returning to The Boy's,
And His fully justified chore.)
He took up a dramatic poise,
From behind his rouge door.
The Boy surprised the monsieur,
By opening the door of red,
And in as fast as a blur,
The milkman lost his head.
In one swift and final motion,
Axe severed skin from skin,
And out sprayed a red, bloody lotion;
Out poured the man's sin.
"Not right to rape a child,"
The Boy thought, dragging in head and body.
"She was so pure and mild."
He quickly closed the door, quite quietly.
The milkman's tongue rolled about,
Wishing to retract his evil deed,
Or maybe, just to scream and shout,
Or just maybe, to let his throat bleed.
~
Again, Rod watches from the window,
As she knocks upon His door.
The delivery girl named Cloe,
He knows she is a whore.
For the evening just past,
The Boy tracked from afar, Cloe,
As she and her cohorts massed,
Each one, dressed up as a hoe.
They sat upon a wooden bench,
On a filthy street corner,
Till a man would ask 'Wench?'
Then one girl would take his order.
Random men, did claim,
To each and every one,
For each her, a minute of shame,
For each him, a minute of fun.
"I greet thee," with a fake smile,
She offers to The Boy.
His blood does boil and rile,
At Cloe, who is so coy.
Armed with box and clipboard,
She examines his order.
Her expression, hiding how she's bored,
His hides his mental disorder.
"Get rid of her quick,"
A quiet voice, in His head thinks,
"She is so very, disgustingly sick,
I bet she also snorts, and drinks."
"Another box? You say?"
He asks with a mischievous grin.
Come closer and we'll play,
This game, so full of sin.
"So many boxes, in so many days?
Whatever do you receive?"
Some items used to slay.
"My mum's items, I conceive."
Indeed, the box was full of sharp,
And gleaming metallic weapons.
Fishing knives, designed for carp,
This day, designed for humans.
The phone begins to blare,
As the Boy had pre-planned.
He marches from the girl with blonde hair.
Leaving the door open, and unmanned.
"You need to sign this sheet!"
Cries Cloe, from the door.
"To the phone I greet-
She's rung, twice on twice more-"
"Could you come, within and over here?
Inside My house, there's nothing to fear."
(Aside from the remains of the previous visitor,
Tossed carelessly, next to the open door.)
Cloe stepped inside the darkened suite.
To be hit by the stench of rotting meat.
"Dear God, I cry, what smell does waft?"
The Boy, master of His deluded craft,
Flew at her, His axe in hand,
As He had so very carefully planned.
The end of her was a gory site,
She lost her life, to a darkened Knight.
Chest wound, door slammed shut,
Eyes went dead, as did the slut.
Enough to make stand neck hairs,
As He chopped her into tiniest squares.
A booming, evil laugh filled the air,
His heart shaded as green as his hair.
~
His third victim, a burger chef.
He, the same age as Rod,
In left ear, part deaf,
But still, criminal to this 'God'.
His crime (all though committed quite fast):
For every day, while on break and out back,
He would turn man into beast,
And entertain his meat and sack,
And return to work, with hands unclean,
He would serve each and every burger-buyer.
But this boy, named Andrew was not mean,
And he was not a slut, rapist or liar.
He was very honest about his deed,
To anybody who inquired,
As he gave them there meal to feed.
(But he really should have been fired.)
Rod waited, quietly, until,
Andrew was in his worst position,
Before going in for the kill,
Behind the Jimmy D's kitchen.
A quick chop to his head,
And Andrew was put to a permanent bed.
Andrew, loaded into the back of Cloe's truck,
This sped, from Andrew's warm, white, manly muck.
His body was raced inside, beside the others,
A dead family of a sister and two brothers.
~
He parked the truck of Mr. Birch,
Somewhere, a far walk from his home,
Beside an old, unattended church,
A garbage dumpster, and a lawn gnome.
He first plucked out a milk jug,
Then covered, in gasoline, the truck.
Quickly, the milk he did chug,
Guzzle, slurp and suck.
He proceeded to burn down the truck,
Destroy all evidence, with any luck.
The van of the delivery girl,
Send speedily down off a hill
Sent off in a twirl,
Near the abandoned mill.
It sank slowly to the bottom of a pond.
The Boy, now bored, yawned.
~
The Boy whistled at His porch,
For He was quite content,
After sending all three, to scorch,
In Hell- their souls so very bent.
He waved at her so full of joy,
As His mum came up the drive,
And as she waved back at the Boy,
He felt, so very alive.
"What did you do today?
My bright and happy chap?"
"I had a light play,
And then I had a light nap."
"How incredibly nice,
To have a good and happy boy,
For dinner, I shall make rice,
Noodles, green tea and boc-choy.."
"What else, on this cycle,
Did you so perform?"
"I did ride some bicycle,
You know- just the norm."
(When in fact, as you probably know
The boy got rid of a Pedophile,
A Perverted chef and a delivery Hoe,
And hides it all so well, behind a smile.
The delivery van, sent to the bottom of a pond,
The milkman's truck, was set aflame,
Neither would be traced back or found,
And for his actions, the Boy felt no shame.)
As she heads towards His Porte,
Towards His death and decay,
Into His personal death fort,
He calls her proper name, "May?
Today I met a devil, yes,
He stole away my soul,
And I melted, into a mess,
A Boy with a chest hole.
He made me imperfect, with such utter malice,
Into such an evil, unthinking child.
So tonight, you may feed a Devil rice,
Upon the grounds, so utterly defiled.
I have slain the deserved,
For crimes they did undertake,
My hands are turned red,
But my soul remains uncaring and fake.
Rapist pedophile, skank,
And a cooking chronic masturbator.
They smell really rank,
Inside our freezer refrigerator."
She looked upon him with much dismay,
Her poor Boy, in the role of Grim,
Upon Him, lit a single ray,
His conscience, completely slim.
And then all light was gone,
As her Boy shed His holy glow,
He changed into Monster from Fawn,
Turned unto ash from snow.
"Unholy father, wretched man,
It has begun again.."
Her face, a broken or smashed vase,
Turned from her conscienceless boy,
She began a feverish, sprinting race,
Away, from him, home, and forgotten boc-choy.
He watched, in some distress,
At his sprinting mother,
In a sensible, red dress,
Leave him in a real bother.
"I guess I'll go and hang myself, today.
For my crimes, I will pay."
Do you want to read part ii?
Or head straight to the disclaimer?
[exit]