A Silent Harakiri Sword

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


A young girl is murdered by a ghostly presence carrying a samurai sword. Looking like an act of harakiri, her father will blame her guardians, forcing them to earn the right of performing harakiri
on themselves.

Submitted: August 12, 2018

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Submitted: August 12, 2018

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The samurai sword a bolt of thunder when it strikes through flesh, it cuts skin and bone beautifully to keep blood gorily fresh. Zeus makes the anger of his actions swim through skies to rumble a flying cloud, the same thunder revealed when the blade attacks skin quite proud. The thunder in the skies is always hurting, a human brain strapped to the electric chair awaiting the death penalty. The skies are night are black headaches when the lightning gets worse. Like a pain not able to find a cure when each strike is like a blood clot. The lightning is like a samurai sword, splitting clouds for splitting headaches. The silence never leaves, the moon never grieves. The lightning strikes are unpredictable and each cut from the sword leaves people like abandoned buildings.

More people die and their blood becomes a brick road for Dorothy. A UFO in the sky, conspiracy learning to fly. In the blackness of night love is cut in half, choice of homicide or suicide. A black paradise with white clouds cut in half, buried to the east and cremated to the west. Hoping to cut the sun in half, the blade will catch skin cancer. The samurai sword is like many things because the damage caused is death. A knife is used to cut an apple in half and the water inside bleeds. It is also used to carve a pumpkin, with surgery it becomes excluded from Halloween. A magician will cut a person in two, but real magic is when the blood is true.

A young girl in the morning, awake when the early sun is yawning. The pane glass her only connection to the outside world, black summer on a yellow winter day. The tears through the night that melted a frozen stream on her cheeks, a nightmare breaking through glass. She touches her face and feels the silk touch of icy rivers. She has been crying through the night trying to sooth incoming pain. Her tears are a play, a rehearsal of what will happen today. The blood in her head are thoughts drowning. Her head receives headaches, her eyes built the stream of her world in seven hours.

The girl opens her curtains and the wider they open, the rosier her smile is when thorns do not grow. The lonely bird on her window ledge flying away to the moon in the sky, message not left in a bottle. Her smile becoming lilies, the crystal will crack. Her eyes dreary from the sleep of yonder, another Colossus tearfully slayed by Wander. Waiting for the poet to come to paint dots in the sky blue. Her heart is a bloodflower, thorns become her veins in her body. Sitting in the middle of her bed, a boat stuck on concrete. Her body the sad part of art, sold for nothing when the sculpture is a forgery.

Ice skating on a frozen river, her spine paralysed when the avalanche of tears will send shivers. Dressed as a fairy tale in Snow White's dream, the seven sins replace the seven dwarfs. Sensing something will come into her room soon without the flute being played. She still has dreams in her heart, each one dreaming inside a coffin when they depart. Her eyes look through the window and the landscape is a free painting. The view outside her own art gallery, the shop closed when she failed to go outside. When the day changes its nature, the art inside her shop is stolen. Her life, Michael Myer's kitchen knife, Henry the VIII with another wife, Aeris dying in the arms of Cloud Strife, Death came with his scythe.

Climbing back into her bed, the warm quilt a mother's touch to an innocent soul. A season of summer in her warm sanctuary, Heaven wounded with another hole. Her heart beats patient under the warm walls like a countdown to destruction. Her soul is hiding because it doesn’t want to become a ghost. The window blows open and her house blown down, a tornado of wolves. The cold wind is feeling like the touch of Death himself. Half of her body covered with the blanket, insufficient shelter for a nuclear bomb. Hiding from something she can only feel, before Zod she will kneel.

Shivering even in a warm yellow sun in a frozen winter. The wind howling silently, the wolf found its prey. She shakes in her bed becoming a human earthquake. Her lips sealed, on a stamp first class in a postbox. Frozen like a musical statue playing with dolphins in icy water, her ribs feel like icicles playing the piano. Her tears dropping like toxic droplets, making her bed feel like the skin of a poison arrow frog. She has delivered herself to her last swallow of air, with no one in the world to give her care. Her heart and soul are waiting, fear is nearly a complete painting.

Her will seeking a saviour, searching for Zorro with a rapier. Only her four walls cry wallpaper, concrete tears in different coloured paint. Seeing a friendly ghost, her dreams will faint when Casper appears. The morning of day brushed like iconic paintings,Van Gogh will cut off his ear. The cliff tumbling, earthquake rumbling. Gentle smoke following the wind, her windpipe polluted. Feeling like she is flying she cannot pull the parachute chord. A crash landing on her bed leaves her the aeroplane without wings.

Waiting for the presence to take her life she closes her eyes to see a blind abyss. She prayers for a God, her hands building shapes like pyramids. Her prayer longer than normal, her tears a flower bed decaying in the drought. Her closed eyes seeing only darkness with no sign of life, demons with an invisible flamethrower burning the will of  God. Her eyes are still closed, curtains to the play yet to open. Her heart is writing a letter for a stranger, a stroke would put her life in danger. Her bones are needles building a human skeleton. Drawing energy from silence, her heart feeling the bittersweet violence.

Her gentle eyes open, a newborn child seeing the world for the first time. Her fear is afraid three times, hide and seek with the heads of Cerberus. Her pupils are lilies dead, the flower bed grows in her tears. The cold wind blows like a flute leading others to death. Sitting in the middle of her island has left her waiting for a shark. The clock inside her brain is counting down to doom, a glorious sunset in her room. Just thinking is like a blood clot on her brain. The girl takes a cue card from her desk, and red chalk to use for a bloody game of hangman.  

She picks up the chalk but it slides from her grip like ice. She picks it up, a piece of venom in her cup. The colour red reminding her of blood, murder becoming legal. The red chalk is like the roots of a flower. Thinking about what to write, the ghost of her thoughts give her a fright. Closing her eyes for a clear conscience, her eyes are now blind. Opening them again, the play will premiere tonight. The chalk touching the cue card, making friends is becoming hard.

GIRL WITH CUE CARD

Let me cry, before I die. Let me commit, while I sit. Let me send, a prayer mend. Show you care, truth or dare....

No presence is near the room as the girl is silently speaking aloud. The wind breathes harsher, her lungs are cigarettes. Her fear reduces her tears but her eyes are still waterfalls. Staring at the open window and seeing the wind only blow trees and flowers. She still waits in the silence, missing her train to purgatory. Not moving from her bed, her tears violently bled. A giant headache causes an avalanche in her brain. The sensing of something that is near, her eyes fear.

GIRL WITH CUE CARD

Don't look me in the eye to turn me to stone, a head without snakes never dies so let me be alone. I am no poet so see this is my last rhyme, please let me go to heaven as it is my time. May mother please open up her wide arms and welcome me, come you coward take my life so I can go free.... 

She closes her eyes as she prays and tears are running over mountains. They fall down her eyelids like rain washing down a window. Her body's like a statue, turning to stone when her humanity gets pneumonia. Between each flowing tear, the pen running out of ink. Running free, growing a tree, a blushing cold sea. Her tears buried in a cemetery, mourning for earthworms. Her closed eyes make her look blind so that she cannot search for death. Nobody to hear her silent prayer, emergency contacts are wearing headphones.

Grabbing the cue card with her eyes closed, the mind of a ghost. A silent cry of Heaven weeping, the sun is still sleeping. Ethereal guiding birds ignore her silence. Her eyelids closed curtains are plagued with colours in the dark. Seeing darkness when inside her curtain, spiders crawling on her body certain. Afraid to open her eyes she will play dead like a snake. A light is fading in her heart, the star in her soul mortal. Waiting for silence so her tears will stop flooding her fear with heavy rain.

GIRL WITH CUE CARD

I sense you are near and closing in, the window is open so find your sin. Glide to what you see if you care, my tears are offering you quite the dare. Take the love out of my heart please, I will become your poisonous and toxic disease. Make my death look like end of life, the samurai will kill better than a knife....

With no audience turning up, the girl finished the play. Her only lines to speak are the constant tears, water rising to keep a sunken ship shipwrecked. Her eyes still closed as the chalk rolls off to the floor, silent tremor in the city one way. Destination reached, security breached. Death not a genie or a fairy, he will give her stomach three scythes. Light writing in a book her name while L is carrying a badge to capture her demons, the book can kill for unknown reasons. The chalk keeps on rolling like a cigarette capturing cancer. In one sudden movement it stops, the last of her tears drops. 

The wind has died down and a shadow as mysterious as mist climbs through her window. Her brief candle gone out when a wish is not granted on her birthday. A monster appears all before her closed eyes like a black mist. His shadowy force covers her body, total eclipse when the sun went down. Light and day, warm and sway. Her heart is melting away like Antarctica, keeping it a frozen continent. The temperature in her tears is reaching for another ice age. Still chained to the middle of her bed in the light, the town that dreaded sundown.

Her eyes still closed, tears so crystalline they mark a crystal hall for eternity. Slowly breathing as the marching band counts down the clock to zero, a cross telling the time instead of a gravestone. Her soul is quiet for lullabies are burning in yearning clouds. The presence keeps his shadow covering her like a blind quilt. She is afraid to open her eyes, strangers are always waiting outside. Her soul being stalked by her shadow, incorporeal murder. Her tears running down the mountain of her cheeks, looking at the enemy with quick peeks. They drop like the final rainfall, her eyes the sky.

The presence takes a samurai sword and in one quick swift impales her through the heart. Slowly retracting the sword, allowing her blood to become her swimming pool. Her wound is gorgeous, the sharks on her skin swimming in shallow waters. Blood is pouring dark as her heart is beating its way out of her body. Her body is like stars leaking out of their light. Her body slumbers forward quite hungry, Stripe and Gizmo feeding after midnight. He laughs as she cries, he lives while she dies. He covers the quilt over her to grant a burial sleep, hypnotised by a baby's song.

Giving death by false harakiri, honour for her failure. Her body sleeps as her eyes rest closed, body bag dropped to the bottom of the sea by an unseen sailor. The presence disappears like a light turned on in the dark. Silent in her room, a witch flying away on her broom. The silence making birds cry outside when they fly through her window. Birds stand on her bloodied quilt like scarecrows. Flying away when realising her blood is not an orgy of dead earthworms. The voice in the room is a silent microphone, the voice of a ghost can never be heard. 

Her bedroom door opens with a wind not coming from the window. Her father sings her name but she does not join in for the chorus. Thinking she is sleeping, life doll permanently weeping. Gently touching her face with a healing hand with no affection returning, the forest in his heart burning. He is blind so he does not see the gorgeous blood used for her quilt. He notices her window open, eyes of a stranger. He removes the quilt and in his unique way sees her impaled body rowing a boat as blood floats like a floating island. Her floating island has sank, mermaids of the ocean become widowed.

Seeing her wound caused by a wound of harakiri, but looking like the paper of origami. Her father screaming in mutes as the film never came with subtitles. Her two guards rush in and see the crime scene. Knowing they failed in their task to protect her, a sword will impale their spleen. Seeing their boss weep for the first time, ice cubes melting in the freezer. He cannot see the death of his daughter but can feel the air of death. He sits beside her, a parent reading bedtime stories to a child. A rose inside his heart is decapitated, the flower dies without water.

The father ordering the guards out of her room so her can spend time with her alone. Another king losing his crown, knocked off his throne. The silk linen of her quilt receiving life from a blood donor, cheap imitation at the local market. Her skin wounded when the balloon of her body was losing air. Feeling her wound of blood, a river being created in his hands. The prisoner of her heart, died in the prison of her rib cage. He cannot love anymore, for she has reached Heaven’s door. His only child dead, she saw the apocalypse red.

FATHER WITH CUE CARD

I sit on the bed of my dead daughter, her short life riooed with the splitting res water. Her mortal wound tells a story of self infliction, but I don't believe because she had no addiction. She made sure nobody else could hear her cry, so she was murdered before she could painfully die. What sort of father am I going blind age, never heariher cry when I'm near her cage. Never heard her cry while failing in my arms, all she needed was the strength of parental calms. Never heard her die when failing in my arms, my eyes could never see all the self harms. Daughter fly away a butterfly away from this hell, while I become a turtle broken inside a shell....

He only has enough money for one tear, and it misses her heart of a money box. Never to drift away in a healing ocean and now cemented in legacy a white flag on his own surrender. Hours pass and he is in the garden alone looking at the fruit that is growing. He has dug a hole to bury her remembrance, the one fruit that rots in disease. Ripe in colour as they taste like life's water, the angelic face of his daughter. His blind vision senses the hole that is an unsettled garden in his heart. The hole is several feet deep, a bed for the departed. Today he will mourn, any day now his wife expecting a newborn.

He gently places his daughter into the hole he dug for her burial. Every tear he is shedding a pot of gold for her missing wedding. Each paper boat sinking in hostile waters when they drop from the ship of his eyes. Many more tears flow in silence, unmatched pain for his daughter's violence. Drinking another bottle of vodka counting measures of shots on the scales of tears. The vodka soothing his fears, Sweeney Todd playing a human violin with his shears. The bottle of vodka empty, just like the daughter who is the shape of dead bones. Drunk at his own daughter's burial, general knowledge that is quite trivial.

He takes a knife, cutting underneath his eye for a teary lullaby. The blood running a permanent tear, paint will dry in a moment. The tears have become dry, vampire turning to dust in sunlight. Frankenstein and Wolfman playing hide and seek, quite a fright. The knife is his only friend for it cuts his skin quite loyal. Unlike his guards who failed the test of protection. Letting his blood drop is a donation to show that family will live on forever. The cuts on his face, earthquakes on his human skin.

He cuts his face again violently to show permanent tears, the forgotten water of waterfalls. Blood covering the flowers he bought to remember where she sleeps, Mufasa slipped off mountains oh how Simba weeps. The disturbing blood adding colour to flowers that had their colour drained. A butterfly will land on the flowers but the blood is too heavy to love. Flying away, a kite in the sky. He turns his back so his daughter can eternally rest, Juliet will never wake up for her Romeo. Leaving her he walks into the guards training room to find her guardians reenact a lost fight in history. They stop and bow to show their respect, sunken cities always a mystery.

GUARD WITH CUE CARD

We are sorry for your loss master, we'll find the one for this disaster. I ask for forgiveness my only wish, IllI decapitate the one like a fish. Master why did you cut your face, your blood bleeds more in her place.... 

FATHER WITH CUE CARD

Running out of emotionless tears, my blood has no fears. Failing to protect my daughter, you'll fight to the slaughter. You'll fight to the death, decapitation after your final breath....

The guards frozen to look at each other before one of them will die. A cub lost in the wild, the wolf will cry. The father looking on as he raises his sword, a white flag not meaning surrender. The guards will commence in battle as allies fighting each other's enemy. The guards bow and unleash their swords principled for a fight to the death. Metal clinks against each other, a football match ending in a stalemate. The father watches on blindly, hearing entertainment his new sixth sense. A guard breaks through defence to land a cut on his opponent's shoulder to immobilise him, the pain is there but still slim.

The opponent drops his sword, another terrible Halloween remake. The guard holding his sword still picks up the sword of his opponent and sticks it through his opponent's foot and into the ground. Nails connected to wood, building a cross. The opponent a puppet stringed, cannot kill like Chucky. Instead of a kill for mercy the guard holding his sword hesitates like a rat being chased by a snake. Looking into the eyes of his friend, he has to write the fatal end. His friend cannot move because of the pain, and his blood flows such a beautiful rain. The master sounds unimpressed as he hears nothing but silence.

The guard bows to his opponent and slowly cuts him like a shark going around in circles on his stomach. The guard in incoming defeat screaming in pain, no regen to help regain. An island of skin peeled away from his stomach, gushes of blood pouring on the first human built waterfall. He places the tip of the sword into forests of intestines, and lets them decorate next door's Xmas tree. The red blood a delicious soup and the intestines a delicious homemade bread, the last supper of Jesus. The winning guard will use the tip of the sword to punch further into his skin. The blade of lightning causing earthquakes of red, the human flower is leaking blood. Blood is pouring like art, a priceless painting is murdered.

The guard in pain attempted to put his hands together and close his eyes like a prayer. When he puts his hands together his opponent with the sword will cut them off leaving him with no pulse. He has his eyes closed and his worthy opponent bows to him. He raises the sword level with his friend's neck and in one violent swoop decapitates him, The Headless Horseman is born. His head bouncing on piano notes playing that will play music at his own funeral. The winner marches over to his master and bows in gratitude hoping for forgiveness in his sin. The father nods acknowledging the guard's victory, the fate of a flower still dead.

GUARD WITH CUE CARD

Please forgive my sins and accept the sacrifice I present to you before your blind eyes, may I be forgiven to become a guardian again but in your answer my fate lies.... 

FATHER WITH CUE CARD

Your sins can only be purified one way, and your sacrifice pardoned your sins just today. You understand the sword is life's purest cut, it cuts down bones like a brick hut. As the winner you'll die by your sword, your own sword in front of your lord. Perform harakiri in front of my blind eyes, and in your sacrifice the sin always dies.... 

The guard has his own sword in the fate of his hands, and all options are death in all lands. He stabs himself in the chest and falls down to one knee. Still alive he takes a knife and cuts through cardboard layers of skin to create his own fountain in the garden. He cuts through bone as he is cutting down the trees in the fields next to his house. He quickly places his heart into the hands of his master who accepts it. Purifying the sins of a once loyal guardian, the ghost cannot pick up his sword. The master watches him die, where death is a silent cry. Cement in water turning to make stone, beatless heart unable to atone, another life thrown, a sanctuary made from bone.

Another guard comes running in, creating another turn of sin. He sees the blood and death on the floor, a failed resurrection. He looks to his master but sees that his life is just empty. The guard has put himself at risk, and the wind of the sword feels brisk. He touches the bodies of the dead guards believing it was the master who caused it. Hand on his sword ready to fight, his heart will soon say goodnight. Wanting answers from his master, a student cheating on exams. Standing there like a question mark, the answer will contain decapitation with no words.

GUARD WITH CUE CARD

Master we are sorry for your loss but what have you done? These men did the best they could but yet you needed fun.... 

The master does not answer as he stares in blind silence. The guard raises his sword, a dangerous tree. He runs at his master with all his might, trying to kill a man with no eyesight. He attempts to cut off his master's head but his strike is blocked. The master will lower his opponent’s sword, the bridge opening up the castle's defences. In one sharp swoop he will decapitate his opponent, the full moon losing another werewolf. A lifeless body will slump to the floor, adding blood to the ground to create more. The master will walk away with sword holding his hand, his new daughter.

Days later and the days are lighter, making the years brighter. The father's wife gives birth to a baby daughter, eyeless even to a ghost. His joy only fifty percent, his smile is blind. He watches as his wife is a cradle to sleep, the baby quiet to cartoon stars. A healthy childhood awaits the child, no risk of cancer as the sun is mild. The wife will hold flowers as a sign of strength, children are sleeping in roses. Her child sleeping quietly, eyes resting in butterfly dreams. The ocean crashes onto the beach, skin is stung by jellyfish and blood stolen by a leech.

WOMAN WITH CUE CARD

She sleeps like a rock hitting the cradle yet always finding the door, so I ask please be a father and disfigure your face no more. Your black tears should be a life stream for a beautiful future together, and not the red blood of the miserable past to be remembered forever....

FATHER WITH CUE CARD

My hands are too stained to hold her in a circle of love, her newborn skin and eyes will see a different reflection from high above. My fucking face too fucking disfigured to make her smile or love her, when I kiss her forehead it will be the kiss of a monster....

WOMAN WITH CUE CARD

Just quietky take her as she sleeps, your love for her is very deep....

The father quietly caresses his daughter in her hands, house on fire without a smoke alarm. Angelic life held in the hands of a monster as his daughter dies in his arms. His face too disfigured to cut anymore tears, his walls are crashing in a empty elevator. His wife stunned, shunned, crying on a star as her tears are outgunned. Her tears so loud, the siren of the ambulance trying to save a human life. Rain is dripping down her eyes, the glass window breaks forever. Stars appear in her eyes, leaking out of their light when emotional. The crying goes on forever, and the tragedy will ask why once in never.

The father places his dead child with his wife now crying on life support. He takes his sword, forfeiting to a dark lord. His sword in line with his heart, next in line to the throne. He stabs himself in the heart, his act of harakiri on a paper body. He bleeds glorious as his insides show a safe place of shelter. The hospital window opens and a silent wind appears as music dressed up as humanity. A human presence holding something in his hand, a ghost that wants to makes friends. Is it flowers to mourn for her loss or a samurai sword to perform harakiri?

A Silent Harakiri Sword © 2018 by Dexter Angelus Draven. All rights reserved.


 


© Copyright 2018 TheSinningCrow. All rights reserved.

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