(Continues from Simplicity in Hell’s Casino)
About halfway up my spiritual tether, the inevitable question attacked me, and I paused my ascent out of hell.
What anchored me and what spawned the tether?
Finding it changed me from a pale feather
floating on chance’s breeze in the aether.
Climbing its corded leather from nether
planes, I wonder who we are together
for I am nothing without my tether.
And knowing that scares the unlife out of me. Unfortunately, I had no time to ponder the nature of the eternal and whether or not my tether connected to a god-like being. I had a winged problem soaring my way jaws extended to take a bite out of my ghostly hide. Hightailing up my tether, I searched for links to detach. The last fistful I’d thrown had knocked the creature for a loop. But alas, I’d run through my story collection and the links had changed to leather reminiscent of a braided belt. Still, I fumbled about searching for a projectile to throw.
I needed some weaponry, preferably one of the distance variety. A good RPG would do. This hand-to-hand thing is tough to manage since my fist phases through everything I touch including the bat-winged demon diving at me. But I punched it anyway, and my fist passed right through its snout. The knife gripped in its claws slashed across my ribs, and a transparent liquid oozed out. Fantastic. My soul could bleed.
How much damage could a ghost sustain? I was about to find out.
For OctPoWRiMo, 31 poems in 31 days–all part of one story.
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