From Placid to Hate

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

So beautiful

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.





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