A leather duster,
A wide brimmed hat and a scowl
Were my uniform.
Death stood beside me,
Leaning on his bloody scythe.
He was my partner.
Our mark was a beast
As big as a sheep is dumb…
And on a rampage.
The raging creature
Was gaining the upper hand.
My ammo was low.
We ran for shelter,
A not too damaged warehouse.
We locked ourselves in.
The warehouse was full
Of bullets and bandages,
Survivors and dead.
I filled up my clips,
Even the one hidden in
My harmonica.
While we patched our wounds,
Real trouble started brewing.
An idiot spoke.
It came here when that girl did!
Let’s give her to it!”
The girl was tiny,
No more than seven years old.
I got to my feet.
“Even if it did
Follow her, I’m not about
To sacrifice her.”
The town folk pulled guns
Faster than a man can spit.
Death shot me a look.
Run, it said, Grab her,
And flee when you get
the chance.
Then, the beast burst in.
Death, the child, and I
Left the monsters to the beast
And ran for the hills.
[This is actually half of a dream one of my friends had. I just felt like turning it into Haiku. Because nothing says Western like Japanese poetic form.]
