the refrigerator
So, you have returned, I see,
To the pages of Rod Roy,
What will become of his killing spree?
Or what will become of this Boy?
He's removed all tell-tale tracks,
Except three chilled corpses, eh?
They're piled up, beside his snacks,
In his refrigerator, I must say.
In this town, so very minut,
Lives serial killer Rod.
The cops aren't too astute,
At catching this demi-God.
But, to return to the story at hand,
As the narrator, had already planned..
~
Once again, completely alone,
He began to feel a statue, or,
Very much like a stone.
But his brain felt raw and sore.
He recontemplated, the taking of His own life.
And, after musing and pondering, quite a time, He
Decided to continue with his rampant strife,
For all the world, that, as yet, failed to see.
But, completely unsure of what to do,
The Boy dialed up His friend, Matthew.
"You sound very down, or perhaps blue..?"
"God has ripped me apart, screw by screw.
He took off with my soul.
My conscience left stranged.
Punched me, with many a bullet hole.
My mind altered, fucked, and deranged."
"This sounds very dire.
Peculiar, bizarre events leave you upset."
"I am not a liar,
To say my soul needs a reset."
"You say God soul-napped, tu'as
spirit, jaune et glowing."
"I told you once, but I say,
That half the problem is knowing.
"Should I consel a priest?
But without a soul, perhaps I be possessed?
Perchance, a demon, has made me his feast?
Where to turn, when I'm this messed?
"Just calm yourself down.
Give yourself a slap.
Remove this sad frown.
Take a slightly long nap."
With a thank to His friend,
He did so incredibly admire,
A nap, to make himself mend,
The boy tried to flee his personal mire.
(Forgot, to mention, the corpses three,
Or disposed evidence and such,
Or his mother, who took to flee;
It was all, way too much.)
~
"..a good Boy" she thinks out loud,
Wandering down a dirty walk.
"Such a good Boy," to a nearby cloud,
A buzzing bee, crouching cat, and lifeless red block.
"He'd never, even hurt a fly,
It must be some kind of prank.
He'd never force to die,
Twice a pervert, once a skank."
She wandered for hours on hours,
On cement, gravel or mud,
Around trees, dirt and flowers,
In the midst of their bud.
"He's a fine, young Gent..."
(Failing utterly to realise,
Her Son, in half was bent,
And telling herself lies, after lies.
Obviously, the mother May,
Took this news quite badly.
Her average, perfect son and day,
Had ended quite sadly.
For her Boy was ultimately cursed,
And had become both the Devil and the God's pawn;
Not the last, and not the first.)
May sadly noted the day's dawn,
As he rushed to meet her,
with it's glowing, luminous glow,
Like a speeding, racing tiger,
Brighter than a day, covered in snow.
~
She arrived home, soon after sunrise,
And checked out the frozen coffin,
That attracted some insectoid flies,
To the bloody, unnatural sin.
"Morning, mum," chirped Rod,
Fresh from sleep and fully rested.
(Such an evil, uncaring Sod.)
His mum's pulse was being tested.
"Is there anything, left to show,
Of these evil deeds?"
"I'm smart, and I say no.
These, are the only leftover seeds."
"Do you feel no regret?
You acted quite evil and bad,
Yet, you act much unupset!
This is not a fad-
Destroying three lives, no matter
How justified you believe yourself,
Is the act of a pychotic mad-hatter.
Yet, you're as cold as a book, on shelf!"
"God stole my soul my conscience!
He, a magician and a brute,
With his unholy science!
Offering me an unholy fruit!"
"Remove these bodies, today,
Before you are caught!
That is all I will say!
Er, and before they rot.."
With that, May marched off to work.
Her Boy stared at milkman remains,
And face covered in a smirk,
At the fridge covered in bloodstains.
~
Before the Boy's house, did stop,
A vehicle- mostly white, with stripes blue:
The car of an average, slow-witted cop,
With mase, gun; each foot in a black leather shoe.
Slowly, he creeped up the walk,
Into The Boy's sight.
"Fuck..
That's not right.."
Rod, after dragging up three flights of stairs,
Three, mishappen trash bags, and
Had on pinprick His neck hairs,
While His brain felt slow and full of sand.
The door opened to a "Good morning,
Sir of this bungaloe.
Currently, a mum's in mourning,
Of your delivery lady named Cloe."
"Cloe? Whattever for?"
Asked The Boy, too sweetly,
For Cloe, was in a frozen bag of gore,
Remains and residue, tidied up neatly.
"She's been gone for many hours, night and a day,
Without so much as a call."
And without a God to pray,
The Boy feared at worst-execution, best-jail cell.
"Her truck was discovered,
At the bottom of a small lake."
"How was it uncovered?
Tell me, for godness sake!"
The cop eyed The Boy, from head to toe.
The Boy began to redden as he began to sweat,
And reflected on the food in death's row.
But then, cop was distracted, by low-flying jet.
Feet from His feet, lay Cloe, the girl,
And as He stared down the Po,
He felt a need to hurl,
On Coppy, average Joe.
"Uh, found by a hunter,
Some time, early today.
His name was Gunther-
By the way, how's mum-May?"
"Quite fine, quite fine,"
Lied Rod, bold-faced.
Snake lying to swine,
"An axe against his mase
Take him out, before you're caught,"
Whispered a small voice.
"Kill before you end up shot,
Kill another of your pathetic race."
~
Covered in sweat, Rod smiled,
As the cop drove off.
Drove away from premature child.
Undiscovered, He let out a scoff.
~
He dragged sack, after sack, after sack,
Outside, in His small, empty yard.
Then He started to dig holes, out back,
And deposited in three sacks of lard.
Tired, after all that effort,
Covered in smell and sweat,
He removed his wet shirt,
And went inside to eat.
~
He was enjoying some chicken,
When May finally returned.
Both, His and her pulse did quicken,
But only her stomach churned.
"Rod Roy, I am your mother,
But I've kept you from discovering,
About how fate screwed your father,
But, since it's all uncovering.."
"What about dad?"
"Tragically insane,
Really quite sad,
Similiar to your pain.
He claimed, as do you,
To have met up with God,
In form of a thieving shrew.
And then lost his fucking mind, Rod."
He digested this new information.
Then came up with a thought.
And felt premature elation.
"And then, ended up shot."
Gone was the thought, happy,
All and any motivation.
He felt shitty and crappy,
From her explanation.
"Our name was 'Flower',
Before we had to flee,
From our town, turned quite sour,
With the two of us, you see.
Your dad also had a serial killing spree,
Much like your own.
He ignored his family, of three.
And carnage, was sewn.
And then he took a gun,
And put an end to his own fun.
Monster, was your dad.
A genius, turned mad."
"I have to argue a point,
This, my point of view,
Before inhaling a cigarette joint,
Stuck in my left shoe.
My Dad, I do not know, or remember at all,
But I claim that he was a victim.
For, if he met up with my God, covered in shawl.
From which all this evil, does stem."
"You think of yourself, as such?
Victim, not villain, trapped by circumstance?
I am no judge, not as much,
But you can't blame events on this happenstance!"
Rod's face boiled to reddest red.
"Neither of us, can be put to fault.
We only make the deserved bleed, or bled."
(Tossing over one shoulder, some salt.)
"Criminal! Shall you continue on this path?
They'll catch on to you so fast!
The cops'll pull the math!
And then your freedom, is but the past!"
"Shutup, bitch!"
Rod's face did twitch.
"Kill her, kill her!" yelled a voice.
"It's not like you have a choice!"
May Roy, fled from her abode,
The Boy's anger left unsewed.
"Knock knock," called a familiar tone.
Matthew arrived, as May had flown.
"Dear God man, you've aged!"
"She thinks us evil! Tisn't our fault!"
Rod Roy raged.
"Let's have us a drink of malt."
Together, they both drank a fair bit,
And slowly, Rod's rage died down, then quit.
"You've killed not a single soul, nobody today,"
Whispered Rod's inner-demon, or some-such.
"You gonna fail on Matthew, like you failed with May?
Take him out, with you Rodas touch!"
~
"I have something to say, a confession."
Whispered to Rod, Matthew.
"I have developed a blood-obsession,
That has set my senses askew.
I now find that I fear the day,
Garlic, no longer an appealing prospect.
And churches, no longer will I pray.
Like you, I am now an experiment, a subject.
God has taken my soul, in a different way,
Or, mabie the devil, what the hay.."
Rod cupped his head in his hands,
"Jesus Christ, what next?
So many demands, reprimands, it stands,
That dad, mum, Me and you are all vexed.
To such an unrelenting fate.
We're all going to die, a horrible, horrible fate.
.. And all the people I've killed,
And then, all the corpses I've chilled.
Should I end it now, and kill Rod Roy?
Or, perhaps, could I offer you some forgotten boc-choy?"
Do you want to read part iii?
Or head straight to the disclaimer?
[exit]