Ellison's Bastille

It's inconceivable 

When an old ritual 

Takes precedence 

Over a person's life

But that's what this 

Particular ditch was for

No one here

Would admit such

Atrocities existed

Under the mythical fabric 

Of America 

Down deep in the South

Where the swamps 

Slowly creep to your backdoor 

Trespassing often

The rattlesnakes and water moccasins 

Sunbath on your sandy lawn

Sparsely sprinkled with grass

Waiting to strike at barefeet 

Here

An ancient pact was agreed upon 

Between the top predators of the region 

Werewolves to be precise 

Claimed an old foreboding land

Anyone who betrayed their peace 

Was subject to an explicitly cruel death

This pact was broken of course

Since chaos is the very anatomy

Of nature

A father was to be hunted

And torn limb from limb

While his daughter 

Was to be raped brutally 

And afterward hunted viciously 

If by some grand gesture 

Their gods granted her protection 

With infinite camouflage 

She could have her pups in peace

Without the clans 

Destroying her precious bloodline 

Rape, no matter what words 

A person uses

In some sectors of anonymity

This is their trademark

On this day when the sun 

Was at its highest

And the humidity beaded upon her skin

Ellison was dragged 

To the sacrificial ditch

The male werewolves were lined up

Barely holding their victims

Transformed, long ivory fangs glistening 

All colors of fur shining 

As if they were just brushed 

For the ceremony 

The howling and nipping began

Each victim thrown relentlessly against 

The dried sun burnt grass that crinkled 

Like long-forgotten Christmas paper

Rubbing raw flesh straight to the ground

Black and white sand

Soaked with the blood of virgins

Under such beastly immense weight

After the first surge

The women were released 

Fleeing as fast as stampeding deer

Hearing ricocheting gunshots in their ears

They ran on all fours

Only one would survive this day

The other victims were devoured 

In the great chase through the stellar pines,

Sea grapes, known as monkey trees to the locals, 

And the beautiful bald cypress 

Ellison climbed the highest spruce 

She could find in severe agony

The only safe place she had ever known 

In silence, she watched the brute

Search around in great confusion 

With his enormous claws digging into the damp underbrush

Her snarling violator was her father's best friend

In shame and bitterness 

He hung his head 

A grand silver mane

Low to the ground 

Sniffing one last time for any scent

Slowly backing away 

From the immense noble tree

He knew his failure must never be known 

Their gods had granted her immunity 

Through invisibility and stealth 

Which was far more than anyone 

Could ever comprehend 

She was a goddess in her own right now

Everyone must believe 

She had been torn to bits

Or he would be punished 

According to the old laws

Cowardness has its place

In every societal clan

Her heart pounded with extreme precision

With each breath her anger grew 

Hysterically

She looked at her hands shaking

Covered in blood and deep gashes

Naked, distraught 

She knew the old ones gathered 

In the high mountain realms far to the North

Where the snow laid down for winter

And the ice blue waterfalls were the gateways

There she would go

To make an unbreakable deal with the gods

For the safety of her children 

Soon to be born ©

To be continued 

Karen L. Fleming, edited 10.31.2024