DARK ARE THE STREETS

Altamura (Apulia, Italy) by Dauno Settantatre

Dark are the streets.

Along which they creep.

Silence is their goal.

Through town they go.

Bodies they leave behind.

Blood-dry they must die.

Church bells are tolling.

And heads are rolling.

Flee from this we must.

Before we are dust.

THE DEAD GAME

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THE DEAD GAME HAS BEGUN

 

End House

 

The stairs are slippery and wet.

The lights flicker and then all goes dark.

The door behind us slams shut.

It’s locked.

There’s no place to go but down.

Down to the basement of End House.

The deserted house at the forest’s edge,

overlooking the crashing waves

of the Atlantic Ocean.

You can hear the waves hitting the house.

The basement floor is wet.

Are the ocean waters entering the house?

Or are we in for more surprises?

What is that sound?

Creaking noises are coming from above.

Huge cages with pointy edges are

descending from above.

Circular saws soon follow,

searching for our heads.

What do we do now?

THE DEAD GAME has begun.

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MIDNIGHT

 

 

THE DEAD GAME

 

Tick tock tick tock

Chimes the old clock.

Cold like a vault.

All dancers halt.

Evil so near.

The Dead are here.

Heads are rolling.

Game of bowling

Midnight has come.

A game for none.

 

THE DEAD GAME

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