My Poetry

Dead Dove Do Not Eat

A black box placed carefully on the perfect sized table in such a minimalist room. Tentitavely I take a step forward and almost draw back. Something about the box, despite its aura of death and the rotten smell it emanates, drags me in. I cannot fully describe the way the walls twirl in the corner of my eyes and demons scratch at my feet to get me to stop. The closer I got, the more I saw. Every floorboard was scuffed and dirty while the walls remained pristine and white, too perfect when compared to the room. I finally reach the box and atop it rests a note. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! What could that mean, a dead dove rests within the box? The smell could at least be explained but why place a dead dove in a box. Curiosity was digging its claws into my throat while butterflies flew a storm in my stomach. Gently, I reach out towards the box and hesitate. What could be in it? I finally garner enough courage to slide the lid off. Decay flooded from the box along with a few flies who stayed to swarm me. In a panic I dropped the box and what happened next can only be described as a hallucination. Gangly and mutated cannot even provide a justifiable explanation of the thing I saw. It emerged from between the floorboards and slithered towards the dropped object. A long, skeletal and withered hand snatched the box and its contents. The monster generated a garbled sound and coughed up some feathers all too quickly leading me to believe it ate the contents. I shouldn't be surprised by it as the note did tell me.