Apogee
by Lori R. Lopez
I
Eyes watch me from all directions
Who are they? My pulse increases
With the murky dread of unknown terrors
The kind that burrow under your skin
And make it crawl, make you cold inside
There is no refuge from the beady stares
I suffer, as if the blows of ball-peen hammers
Dull and rounded to be sure, yet just as brutal
Each time they blink, another strike!
Imagining contused flesh, discolored tissue
The fracture-lines along my bones
The pain — the pain is real and my cries
Echo amidst their fiendish laughter
Bouncing off every surface
In this creepy cinder-block chamber
Of torment, their despicable playground
Room to romp and maim and mangle
An empty warehouse built to last
In a disposable environment
To confine the shrieks of their targets
Victims like me, lured from safety
From the herd of humanity, the veil of
Civilized conduct. Not that bad things
Wouldn’t happen there, but you could
Take your chances and breathe easier
If you didn’t read or watch the news
This is something else entirely
This is a nightmare, and they are —
Kids. Only kids, I have to remind myself —
A tribe of children. Were they ever innocent?
Had they ever belonged to a regular family
In the short history of their existence?
Or were they born this way, intolerable
And rude, giggling with sinister intent
Prone to violent impulses . . .?
I can glimpse their handiwork
In the splashes on walls, the graffiti
Stains of prior assaults. The frenzies
Or whatever they call their misbehavior
I am the next target, fresh meat
For their butchery, these unchildish games
Simple pranks to them, perhaps
For they cavort without consciences
Their Jiminy Crickets stepped on
Or legs pulled off to silence unwanted
Advice. These kids don’t listen
They have never been taught
Right from wrong, shown discipline
Compassion or decency, a good example
Never, I dare think, loved. Who created them?
Who made them this way? I will never know
I fear, but that is not my worst fear by far
I merely know they inhabit negative space
The shadows, lurking beyond light
Except in those randomly glimpsed
Peripheral flashes when you swear
Something was there, darting out of sight
In our dim and haziest perceptions, unguarded
Daydreams, unfocused lapses of attention
The swinging cellar-bulb uncertainties.
II
You know how music can soothe and elevate
The soul? Their music is angry
Boisterous and crude, violating peace of mind
They frolic as if the spawn of darkness
Plotting, whispering, conspiring
To lead you by the hand, cull you
From an indifferent society of grown-ups
Too busy and preoccupied to glance up
Hear your screams, notice your absence
From the day to day shuffle of adulthood
The perpetual mistakes of Mankind
The many untold errors of our ways . . .
I see as they rush forth that it was us
Who molded them after all —
The future generations we abandoned
We had cared so little about
In the mad struggle for progress at any cost
For advancement, freedoms, privilege
The hunger for more, the rampages
And wars, inquisitions or purges by
Bloodthirsty leaders and peanut-gallery
Courts of public opinion; a global view
Choked with narrow corridors of ideals
Burning bridges trolled by clashing politics
Throngs of special interests; one-way streets
Patrolled by flash mobs wielding pitchforks
Blades and bombs, hurling stones of disapproval
Littered with corpses riddled by extremes
Bulletholes of ambushes, justice, terror
Of gunslingers, death-squads, shady corporations
Criminals wear many collars these days
Or no collar . . . but it hasn’t changed
It is nothing new, for History has a long memory
And a lengthier list of grievances
We were part of the problem
Born into whatever age, whatever decade
And generation of a single race
At times unburdened by morality or principle
Driven by greed, the quest for power
The hunger for Knowledge regardless
Of the consequences; blind tunnel-vision
Ambition without foresight or hindsight
On any continent, in every kingdom
We failed to learn, failed to understand
Elected not to draw the fine lines between
Action and reaction, change and oppression
So often chose convenience over values
While looking the other way
From the rough edges, the slaughter
Followed the crowd instead of examining
The status quo. My freedoms and rights
Are being shredded. They circle, this horde
Of vultures, picking and clawing without debate
We were no better, targeting each other as society
Plunged downhill, with trigger-finger rages of bias
And blame; criticism and name-calling substituted
For intelligence, stifling the ability to share different
Perspectives, agree to disagree; stirring up tempers
And the weather in poisoned lands governed by
Agendas; trampling logic and forgetting how to
Laugh; allowing screens to replace shelves of books
The treasure-stacks of adventure and knowledge
We all live on a sinking plunder-laden ship
Survival of the fittest . . . This is the Tomorrow
We shunned. Our apogee. They are the faces
Of the forsaken, arriving sooner than expected
Coming for us as individuals, one by one
Alone yet condemned as a whole
By a vindictive unruly pack of reapers
Who come in all colors — it’s almost beautiful —
Delivering a savage retribution, a collective
Final judgement, out of the mouths of babes.
About Lori R. Lopez
Lori R. Lopez wears many hats as an author, artist, poet, and songwriter. She dips her pen in Speculative Fiction, Horror, Fantasy, Dark and Humorous Verse, and much more. She is an artist, musician, actress, filmmaker, tree-hugger, vegan, and animal-lover. Lori unapologetically takes pride in creatively bending and reshaping the rules of writing when it suits her style.
Her books include THE DARK MISTER SNARK, THE STRANGE TAIL OF ODDZILLA, LEERY LANE, ODDS AND ENDS: A DARK COLLECTION, CHOCOLATE-COVERED EYES, THE MACABRE MIND OF LORI R. LOPEZ, AN ILL WIND BLOWS, THE FAIRY FLY, OUT-OF-MIND EXPERIENCES, DANCE OF THE CHUPACABRAS, POETIC REFLECTIONS I and II: KEEP THE HEART OF A CHILD and THE QUEEN OF HATS.
Stories and verse have appeared on Hellnotes, Servante Of Darkness, and Halloween Forevermore; in WEIRDBOOK, THE HORROR ZINE MAGAZINE, THE SIRENS CALL E-Zine, and anthologies such as JOURNALS OF HORROR: FOUND FICTION, DEAD HARVEST, HWA POETRY SHOWCASE VOLUMES II and III, TERROR TRAIN I and II, GREY MATTER MONSTERS: TAKERS OF SOULS, TOYS IN THE ATTIC: A COLLECTION OF EVIL PLAYTHINGS, CELLAR DOOR III: ANIMALS (Editor’s Choice Award winner), UNDEAD LEGACY, BONES II, GHOSTS: REVENGE, MIRAGES: TALES FROM AUTHORS OF THE MACABRE, MASTERS OF HORROR: DAMNED IF YOU DON’T, I BELIEVE IN WEREWOLVES, THIRSTY ARE THE DAMNED, and SCARE PACKAGE: 14 TALES OF TERROR. Fifteen of Lori’s poems were published for an anthology titled IN DARKNESS WE PLAY.
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