(Continues from The Knife’s Cold Play)
After I girded my loins with courage,
I put a swagger in my step
and approached encouraged by
the opening gate and hell’s rep:
a lass with a gimlet glare.
Her silver eyes cut the lies.
She was stranger than perfect,
a blue-clad badass with a rare
ability to detect
the nonliving nature of my
Behind her carnival rides whirled and lights twirled. I stared at the chick from the PATH tunnel. Where was her moonbeam drenched tree?
“Fiona I presume?”
“That depends. Are you Jonah?”
I tried the name on, felt like a whale and took it off. I shook my head. But her question had raised my curiosity. What was my name? What was my story? Was I love-lorn office drone who suicided when his societal and professional pressure kept Jase and me apart? I tried suicide on, but the garment didn’t fit right. I cast it aside. Natural causes itched when I pulled that death on leaving only foul play.
Fiona laughed, and the harsh sounds her mirth made shattered the eerie quiet of the alley.
It was Q&A time. I needed answers. “Did you know—”
I never finished my query. Behind the gates, the rides melted into an orange haze revealing clashing figures. A winter sun cast merciless light on a battlefield. Through the glare, armored knights fought hand to sword. Blood spilled. Limbs littered the ground around an axe-wielding giant of a man.
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