THE EVIL CLOWN

THE EVIL CLOWN

Horripilate my skin as I flash my light down the hall,

The humid chill of this place makes my flesh crawl,

His slayer said we’d find what was left of him here,

And I think I’m drawing close as the stench of decay permeates the air,

As I peer into the last room on the right,

I make out a figure in the corner barely recognizable in the night,

With quivering hands I shine my light and see the face of a clown,

Hands and feet tied around his chair, blood still dripping to the ground,

His white shirt now a reddish pink,

One hand searches him while the other holds a handkerchief from the stink,

His entrails lay scattered upon the floor,

His throat slit in a fashion I’ve never seen before,

No other human does this to his fellow man,

That villainous animal will be spending the rest of his natural life in the can,

The closer I look at the face of the clown,

He is not smiling, left in a perpetual state of frown,

Behind him is tacked a note upon the wall,

Doing my job I reach for it over the mess of this all,

On the paper it reads, “Father forgive me for what I’ve done,

For in a moment of anger and rage I murdered someone,

But you see, I was merely living by an eye for an eye,

And in order to protect those I love this man had to die.

For he raped my daughters that I hold dear,

And for their sake, never again did I want them to fear.”

At that moment, I found myself without remorse for the departed,

I cannot say I’d resort to murder, but if someone harmed my loved ones…

I too would be more than merely broken hearted.

-brad