Darkness did nothing to save them from the night the demons came. They barrelled through the windows and the doors, shattering glass and wood and bones for a reason unknown to the dwellers of the small cottage. An ache had settled in the girls bones as she watched her father sister mother break and bend to the will of the monsters she knew not how to flee. A stench of blood and sweat and salt thickened the air like a smog around the family and their torturers.
Inspired by the expressionist work of Max Beckmam entitle Die Nacht. This was an exercise in one of my experimental poetics journal, and while it didn’t quite amount to anything substantial, it did indeed get the gears or inspiration working.
The Writing Siren 