• The Runner's Trap
    By: Daust Masana/Farley Grey

    A breeze blew through the park,
    I pull my jacket close and turn away and
    Peer through my collar to spot a fellow,
    Of admirable stature;
    Business-like,
    Strong,
    Confident.
    A grin of sin crossed my features.

    My legs propel me forward,
    My good sense stretches back,
    I stand next to this fellow,
    And glance to his side;
    Eyes widen.
    A scar;
    From monument to maw,
    It carved a certain brutality.

    An air raises underneath me,
    As his harsh eyes roll in my direction,
    Keenly golden, as they were.
    They wished me dead,
    And I almost agreed.
    Then I inquired, hesitantly,
    Good sir,
    Have you heard the news?
    Of that poor lad whom was massacred mechanically?

    The air lowered below me,
    His orbs averted curiously,
    Watching a being immediately similar,
    Walk across the street and
    Halt the trek of a bus.
    He smiled.
    He nodded.

    Of course I have,
    He assured me. Why,
    I take this route everyday,
    And the poor lad's life turned gray,
    Directly across,
    From where we stand.
    He expelled a finger,
    And lifted his hand.

    Blood hit my nostrils,
    Hair hit my eyes;
    A paradoxical wind had passed.
    Golden slits directed themselves back at me,
    Waiting.
    I assumed they saw through anything.

    Did you see it happen?
    I asked,
    Beneath a calm mask.
    But of course I did,
    He assured me,
    His golden eyes Twinkling.
    The lad was running,
    I saw him flee,
    Running and screaming,
    Just to get free.

    Free from what?
    I asked.
    Another bus passed,
    He watched it roll on by,
    Then glanced at me with a smile,
    And that Twinkle in his eyes.

    Love,
    He assured me.
    Demented as it was;
    Defined by normal standards as it wasn't.
    He was fleeing from,
    A Trusted man,
    Who laid by him one night and
    Terrorized him the next,
    According to the interviews.

    I didn't see those,
    I commented as another bus passed and
    Took,
    With it,
    My hat.
    I frowned.

    Only the bravest would conduct it,
    He assured me.
    A back alley newspaper dared,
    To interview such a man,
    Then me.
    They placed both side by side,
    For all to see,
    And compare.

    What was this newspaper called?
    I asked,
    As I looked inside my coat,
    And pulled from it,
    A back alley newspaper,
    I had picked up today,
    Cause I felt daring.
    I held it out.

    That's the one,
    He assured me and
    Placed a plump finger
    On the Front page.
    I read the interviews;
    He stared at me.
    I rose my nose,
    To find him staring at me.

    He committed suicide?
    I asked,
    And returned the gaze reluctantly.
    Like a man running,
    From a shotgun wedding,
    He assured me,
    Then asked,
    With a cocked head,
    What are you running from?

    The future,
    I told him.
    My future.
    I couldn't take much more of it,
    So,
    I turned in my Office Keys;
    I'm heading to Tennessee.

    I turn in my liberties,
    At one twenty three,
    He assured me,
    As a bus passed by.
    His eyes followed it.
    Working in a courtroom,
    Is like working in a circus.

    Then why not quit?
    I inquired.
    Those golden eyes questioned me.
    It's part of me,
    He assured me.
    Morbid curiosity;
    Being awed by the darkness of fate,
    Is dulled by this.

    I nodded and
    Peered down the street.
    Another bus,
    Six one Six,
    Was pulling down the street.
    I stepped forward,
    And he stepped after me.
    His shadow graced,
    My body,
    As I found the bus,
    To be blocked by his figure.
    His harsh,
    Golden eyes,
    Stared down at me.

    I've been watching you,
    He assured me.
    And I admire what I see.
    You seem worth,
    Indulging in a little,
    Debauchery.
    Would you like to go out,
    At about one twenty three?