The Warriors of the Dark

In the ink of night
My walls are wolfless
Empty, barren—
I need no pig-puppet

I am old
Too old, yet—
Plush friends
Surround me still

Nestled together
The warriors of the dark

We dream:
   Duplicate image
   My bed, my room, my toys
   Back against wall,
   I sleep

   Engulfed in silence
   In paint, in rock, in heat
   Through the wall,
   They creep

   Emergence comes
   The nail, the palm, the wrist
   Around my neck,
   They grip

   Twisting in terror
   My air, my lungs, my life
   Into my soul,
   They rip

I scream without sound.

To arms!
To arms, my friends!

They are quiet
Too quiet—
Ragged breath
The only sound

In the dark,
The walls are wolfless still
Among the corpses,
Death, dream—
Interweave at will


Jenny Rae Rappaport  Jenny Rae Rappaport's website lives with her husband and cat in central New Jersey, and is currently working on a novel. Her non-fiction has appeared in Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show, and her microfiction in Thaumatrope. She is a 2002 graduate of Orson Scott Card’s Literary Boot Camp and a 2009 graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop.  In her copious spare time, she knits and hand-dyes yarn.

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