From the cold depths I was born, searing heat, sparks flying, first laugh cackling brighter as my bearer’s swear from sparks’ assault on their soft flesh. I am a glowing being of light. My flesh is hard, grows harder still, & my purpose is clear when one of the young ones helping in my delivery pricks their flesh, glorious red oozing out of them, they’re eyes alight in excitement & fear. They are chided & I am sheathed

I awaken from my sheath in the bright of day, a crowded street, why their noise is so dull, I’d like to decrement their number some, bring some real noise to this joint. My weight is being appraised by you, how I’d like you to unsheath me completely, air rushing by, trailing invisible vortexes. & as if by my command, you obey. I bear down on some wooden flesh, a display, how I would display more, if only you’d tighten your grip on my shaft, plunging me about. But instead I’m left in this hard block of wood, bored listening to your exchange of those weaker metals. Some dispute, a stiff bargain, & then I am freed, point resting against flesh of my seller, why he’s a miserable man, surrounded with my kin, aching day after day, waiting their whole life for just one prick. But I’m not given satisfaction to break this lout’s skin, I felt his pulse, its quickening as his face gave a disappointed expression. He wanted it to, to feel me within him, rending him to leak out those fluids his body’s grown oversaturated with from a life of flipping coins, no cleansing cuts to drain him of the toxins building up within. My threat is sufficient to settle on an agreeable price; I’m resheathed

Off into eastern sun, blue becoming pink, bleeding into that wonderful hue, why to burn these green fields as if Heaven itself descended, it’d be a great festive thing. But these lands are not what we reap, these lands are left to the working hands, & those we reap. These weak people, backs bent, unable to stand straight for the entrance of their noble guest, myself. The infinite patience afforded them, the protection from the darkness which would reach to smother them, they wouldn’t die gushing color on this world, they’d die sick, afraid. They need to jack into this fungible network, trading plenty they don’t need for scarcity they do. & when their son mumbles some ill bred remark, why then I knew, this is it, & I could feel your grip, I could feel my insides turn to liquid, a flesh wound, delicious, silence inducing, for I demand awe

Under a lonely tree, only a few clouds, rolling on, watching outside city gates, our dominion. These fields, this world. Oh the urge to break out in heaps of laughter for all that thrives underhand, yet for such an idle day, there is only the content smiling at the sky through the leaves. You’re lying, vest open, eyes shaded under hat

Along the road of collection a collection of ruffians are harrassing another rider. See here what these people become without the tender hand of law? For a ripped blouse they have ripped flesh, one goes running, but it’s hopeless, without their arm they’ve only moments left to consider their pitiful life. A third has a knife out, I can taste their fear, you can see it in their eyes, they’re desperate, they should’ve run, but they stood in shock, you make a step forward, they’re trying to shuffle sideways to gain a height advantage along the road, but stumble on some rocks, & in that instant you lurch into them, right hand grabbing at their blade carrying arm, kicking in their right leg, twisting me, bathing me in their misfortune, turning me up along their insides, sawing them out, until you have to drop their dead weight, I’m grazing along their chest as I pull out, knocking their head back as their chin bumps my edge

The first, whom you struck unprepared, is crawling away, body limping about by its own volition, no conscious goal. You turn them on their back with a kick, I taste their throat, slightest incision, a lick. & then your foot is dropping upon their stomach, pumping guts out of them, spitting on them. Oh, if only I could ejaculate upon this filth, to spit as if the world my spit bucket. Time for rending has come to a close, now you’re offering your hand to the damsel, playing that polite role with a kiss of the hand, she’s in some shock, she doesn’t seem to’ve been livened up by this vindicative display, so passively she’s in your arms, & then she becomes aware & slaps you, bidding farewell. So ungrateful, I’d like to get a cut on her some time, if it were up to me. At least in your frustration you take to stabbing the corpses lain slain, bodies still warm for my intrusion, collecting their purses, stringing their ears. You can’t help but smirk at that tearing feeling of ripping cartilage, goofy looks of these earless faces

Having arrived at our destination, a stir seemed about, & at the house which was to pass along the sum for this village, there appeared a crowd. You give a sigh, & this has me anticipating. Out of the crowd a woman’s voice comes forth, “We’ve congregated, we’re starving, suffering. We will meet our quota; not yours.” You’re stepping towards the speaker, but the crowd is moving to separate you from your target. These fluid beings, risen to courage by some ringleader, intent on their own profit. You straighten your back to help impress your words, “Defend her, & die. Defend those defending her, & you’ll all burn. We’ll renew this fertile land with fertile people.” The crowd is muttering, why these scoundrels, why waste words on them? They need to be shown their repercussions, to taste the blood of their fellows. Foolhardy, thinking their numbers matter, no perspective of the ever greater numbers your presence implies. They know no greater cruelty, yet if only they knew. Out there are collectors intent on wealth, whereas you’ve no mind to squeeze blood from stone, only blood from flesh. Murmura murum

The footing of your interceptor has become more grounded. There’ll be no bowing before your good sense. With a flick I’m free, wishing his head free. Slicing along as they’re dodging back, biting through their artery, stabbing forward below the collarbone. This is the key moment: there is no more time for murmur. They’ve been given ultimatum: revolt or renounce. They’ve fallen back into the crowd you’re careful not to come too close to. A young boy’s run up to their dying body, tearful eyes, wordless. You’re keeping your eyes on those around, appraising their response, “Go on, bury your dead, let’s not bury more today”

From behind I detect a girl approaching with a rake, compelling you to swing back, snapping the rake, in a moment she’s improvising it as a spear, but her hands are too high up the stick, you keep eyes on the crowd while I sever her hand. A step back & a kick has her fallen on the ground before the uprising. Without pause you reprove her attempt at subterfuge, I tingle her spine, & then she wants to die. This is her greatest moment. You could leave her with her open wrist, but on second thought I plunge down her back, unzipping her spine, you only get to see the affect of her eyes bulging, her face facing those who compelled this execution. With mercy I’m thrust into the bottom of her skull. By now the others know they are only bystanders. “I expect full payout within the hour,” you’ve gathered your sense of command, knowledge of the natural order of this business

They begin to disperse, but you know you’re not done. The ringleader cannot be left to walk away, her subjects having taken the punishment for her. “You there who spoke, who gave the order for this humiliating display?” She’s still standing where she’d stood this whole time. Glaring from her spot at the doorway. She has to decide: to accept the blame, or pass it on to some other poor sap. These devious people, I’d expect them to sooner have the whole place fallen before they take the brunt of it. But she’s more devious, “The first man you felled.” Now the choice is yours: to demand more retribution, or accept her answer, & consider the debt already paid. This lying wench, how I’d like you to thrust me upon her, see how well she keeps her eyes then. But your mind is intent on displays of mercy, of being the lesser evil, an evil they must learn to love. With excitement I can almost taste her flesh as you use me to gesture intimidation. “Let us hear no more trouble from these parts, then, & should we, I’ll know you a liar.” I can feel her heart beating, her mouth going dry, I can taste her lies, her stomach tensing to force out a voice, “I speak truthfully, there’s no more trouble here.” Goods from the two dead are picked through, no credit to these folk, you being their most rightful inheritor

Rainy nightfall’s coming down, so next you ask them keep you a night. They’re honored to oblige, gritting their teeth for such graces. Their manners are slow, you have to prompt them to offer a tear off a loaf along with a cup of vinegar. “Pleasant day before this night,” the elder host observes, her voice crackling in attempt to break tension of your silent chewing. You gruff