Escape from the Siren’s Lair by Stephen Barber

Stephen Barber

Escape from the Siren’s Lair

The ancient who first told the story of Athena’s birth from the skull of Zeus must have had a hangover like this. I may not be the mythic god-king of Olympus, but I surely feel a tiny enraged person trying to burst forth from my head. My mouth feels like it is lined with a particularly old and ratty carpet, and my stomach is a churning maelstrom of cheap booze and chicken wings.

As the world became clearer in the morning light, I realize that the smoke stained, floral print wallpaper and wrinkled pink bed sheets were unfamiliar. There was also a gently snoring creature under the covers to my left.

 

What had happened? How had a quiet night of libations at the Badger’s Den led me to these odd surroundings? Who or what is this comatose form lying next to me, and for the love of God, why am I naked? All of these thoughts bounced around my already aching skull. Recollection of the night before was still fuzzy; my brain was trying desperately to shift out of first gear.

There was something about Popov and a hint of shame but a more complete picture was not quite forming. An investigation of this sleeping being under the covers next to me was in order. I leant over and pulled down the sheets to reveal the sum of my indiscretions.

Oh unmerciful Bacchus, what hath you wrought upon me!

The naked wrinkled visage of the Badger’s Den’s most storied and reviled barfly, DeDe, lay before me, a woman old enough to be my mother and in no way the sexy Miss Robinson type. If Helen of Troy’s face could send a thousand ships, DeDe’s distorted mug could sink twice that number.

With this jarring discovery, my synapses began firing and the mortifying memory of the night before began to invade my tortured mind. What began as a quiet evening of beer and billiards had turned into a debauched foray of plastic bottle vodka and reckless abandon.

While the vile liquid was disarming my inhibitions, DeDe had closed in like a hungry wolf to a wounded lamb. With a devilish toothless grin, she put her hand on my lap and asked if I could buy her a drink. Unlike wise Odysseus, I veered right into the siren’s boulder-like breasts. The unmercifully vivid memory of her telling me that I looked like a young Marlon Brando before slamming me into the cigarette machine and latching her gaping maw onto my mouth flooded back. I was not even spared the recollection of how her tongue was the flavor of bubble gum martinis and halitosis.

I began to shudder as the fuzzy details of the events after we stumbled back to her dingy apartment materialized. How she grabbed my crotch with a level of aggression that would have made Michael Jackson uncomfortable. It then proceeded to a coital experience comparable only to being caught in a fat, drunk crocodile death roll.

The decision to flee came quickly; I snuck into the bathroom, finding my crumpled clothes. Glancing at the mirror, I saw that my neck was covered in hickeys that looked like they must have been created by some sort of industrial vacuum. After leaving the bathroom, I went to make my final escape, only to be met with a sight of abject horror. DeDe had awakened and positioned herself between the door and me. Her whole shamelessly bare body jiggled menacingly.

She gave me a leer so filthy that it encrusted my very soul with its profane grime. Before my terrified mouth could make words, DeDe turned around, put her hands against the door, and jutted her megalithic ass towards me.

“If you want to leave, you’re going to have to unlock my door with your key one more time, honey.”

Vomit began to swell up my throat as I stared into the infernal abyss stretched open before me. Wildly looking about, I could see that all the windows had bars and that I was trapped. There was only one option left, and it certainly was not to use my “key,” as DeDe so euphemistically put it. I let out the war cry of a man who had nothing to lose and charged with all my might into the bovine buttocks blocking my path. With a tumultuous crash, the weight of DeDe’s vast carcass splintered the door from its frame, sending me tumbling to my freedom.


Achilles and Patroklos by Angelique Sites

Angelique Sites

Achilles and Patroklos

 

I have feared this time would come,

for like the wind you have swooped in and taken my heart.

I feared its capture, though it has not been enslaved by you, but set free,

free of wrath and replaced by hope.

Even death’s cold departure could never steal the gifts that you have given me,

for I am left forever changed by you.

 

-Achilles’ love professed to Patroklos

Imagine if a Butterfly by Rebecca Woody

Rebecca Woody

Imagine if a Butterfly

 

Imagine if a butterfly could sing.

            oh! The joy that could fill the air.

A glowing aurora of voice would ring,

            the world couldn’t help but dare

To reach out to a sun-soaked flower,

            fingers longing for the capture.

Imagine if a butterfly could sing. 

Yet, instead, as one approaches,

            a fearful, flirtatious flutter encroaches.

A blur of blue and purple flashes

            upon the silky green.

Timid, silent, filled with fear.

never wanting one to hear

The God-granted mystery, to one so dear.

Only God can reveal the beauty

            in the rhythmic beat of the innocent.

Only He can reveal the beauty,

            oh! That day is imminent

When the butterfly will sing.


The Gleaming by Jeremiah Sater

Jeremiah Sater

 

The Gleaming

Gleaming grandeur attracts the many,

drawing them into a forever trap.

Possibility of escape is rare,

though can be found when all is lost.

When escape is seen,

they often turn back,

never knowing life without

that gleaming grandeur.

Held tightly within its grasp,

at first they may have resisted,

while accepting the fate,

but now resting comfortably.

The gleaming grandeur holds them in awe,

blinding them from the things around them,

never knowing what truly should be seen,

trapped with the grasp.

They hold onto it,

serving it, rather than it serving them,

forgetting what should control what,

living forever in its grasp.

Forgetting their past,

and those outside the light of the grandeur,

they walk with the blind,

the blind leading the blind.

But can those blinded find the sight filled?

impossible is not impossible,

but first they must look past the blinding gleam,

to see that there is life beyond it.

The gleaming grandeur only controls

what the heart allows in,

bringing reality to perspective,

the grandeur loses its hold.

The gleaming grandeur will always remain,

near the heart,

waiting to enter,

to fade out reality, slowly regaining control.