Twisted vines all around her, as she searched in vain for an exit. Since there wasn’t one, and she wasn’t willing to hurt herself to leave, she stayed. For days she sat, with no food to eat, nothing to drink, and finally succumbed to the bitter cold and malnourishment. Silly, don’t you think, to face certain death because you fear the unknown? Her name is recreancy, and this is her story:
Crucified by a long, dark trip she took years ago
They almost made her feel guilty
But that quickly passed.
She can describe a scene to you
It would make you cry.
Then poke you with a rod
That sends waves of pain
Crashing through you.
She can whisper in a tone so soothing
You close your eyes
And pretend you are in paradise.
Then put a weapon to your throat
So you beg for your life.
A momentary glance will get you nothing
But if you look just a tad too long
There is a penalty.
There is nobody that likes penalties
And dishing them out
More than recreancy.
Headed to the very last fight
She would ever have the chance to participate in
Readies her weapon to begin the war.
Her problem now is that nobody wants to fight
All the hate they had for her
Changed to pity.
How sad it is for a woman
To have to fight
Just to feel alive.