Shadowtown

Hello all. This week was the end of my teen writing group for me, as I'm turning nineteen this year, and the age limit is eighteen.

Sad as it is, it was an awesome experience while it lasted, and I have to show for it, an entry in a chapbook created by the group, titled Elemental::.

Here is that piece.

Shadowtown.

In Shadowtown, where the sun beats down,

and there’s not one leaf on the trees

there are things ‘neath the stones

that would chill you to your bones,

and make you shiver despite the heat.

A friend and I were passing by

when we came upon this land.

The heat made it shimmer, and I had just a glimmer

of what I would see firsthand.

The people didn’t speak, their faces were bleak,

but what made us stop and stare,

was their feet hit the ground, but made not a sound,

as if they weren’t really there.

Then we looked at the trees, and went weak at the knees,

as the branches seemed to grin,

for there, hanging loose, from every bough was a noose,

empty and blowing in the wind.

They creaked in the gusts, caked, covered in dust,

Mocking us with groaning bones.

For though empty as holes, the ropes they hung low,

with the weight of a ghostly death row.

The tumbleweeds clawed, the crows they all cawed,

as our skins began to crawl.

It looked as though this is where you go

if your evils are dreary and small.

We staggered around the silent crowds

until we reached town square,

where our eyes found another surprise,

in the dry and dusty air.

A statue black, to us his back

was turned, though we could see

it was of a man, his charcoal hands

were reaching to be free.

And then it turned, and my vision blurred

as this silhouette lurched near.

Its face was gone, its limbs too long,

a ghastly silken smear.

Its hands reached out, and it looked to shout,

though it had no voice it seemed.

We ducked around it, and we could feel the sound

it would have made if it could scream.

And out of the gloom more shadows loomed

like puppets without wires.

The people ignored them in silent boredom,

like trees ignoring fires.

We ran through the street, the sound of our feet

in the silence unnaturally loud,

until my friend said ‘We’re as good as dead’

and suddenly turned around.

He said ‘Why bother to run, when what we run from

could catch us before we could blink?’

I put a hand on his back, and his mood seemed so black

I felt my hope starting to sink.

And then he turned to face me, and I’ll never erase

the image burned onto my eyes.

My friend of ten years, his face disappeared,

a creature, blurring, and blind.

I let out a cry and ran until I

was weak, and my breath came in chokes.

To the ground I crashed, and I thought, at last

this was it, and then I awoke.

I was safe sound and home, in my bed all alone,

no silent people, no shadows, no ghostly trees.

I lay back and sighed, thanked God I’m alive,

and finally remembered to breathe.

Swung my feet out of bed, and then shook my head

to clear my ears as I rise.

For though my feet hit the floor, I could have swore

that they didn't make any noise.

In shadowtown, where the sun beats down,

and it never turns to night,

nothing ever grows, and though it always glows,

shadows are darkest in the light.