i'll never be a poet

pontianiak

her hair was strung up now by an unseen net, curved and bowed in long lacey sections. strung up like strings upon strings of nether black pearl necklaces, the dew, impaled by the needlepoint spine of each hair pulled from her head, sliding down the line like clear, cold abacus beads. then a burst of flames, fingers of fire lit at the tips licking their way inwards to her snow white scalp. how strange, her hair set furiously ablaze but unsinged! black scaley tentacles slithering throw the air, hung on boughs of oxygen. obsidian silk threads bathed in power.

the men watched, fear morphing into fascination. their screams died in their throats, curled into balls of giggles rolling off their powdery yellow tongues- this was no petrifying force. this was a woman

and they

grabbed fistfuls of her hair

and yanked her down

to

the

ground

below

their

waist

to

her

knees

blood dotted the follicles of her scalp and sliced straight crimson lines down her forehead, splattered onto the ground like spit spit spit.