Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
Featured Image: Overrun, by Alejandro MirabalPro
City boys from away, having fun in north woods Maine. Found the hermit, stole his cash. Took his booze and kicked his ass. City boys from away. Didn’t know that they would pay. Didn’t know he had a friend. Didn’t know Bigfoot would be their end. I spear marshmallows on sticks. The ember fox watches as they toast above him. He yips and gobbles one. I don’t mind. I share from the bag until it’s empty. Then he curls up, nose under his fire-plume tail. I sleep beside a friend’s warmth. It’s magical. He dug his own grave at gunpoint. But as the firing squad snickered at the old rebel leader, a 500-pound silverback leapt from treetops. A close, brutal fray overcame panicked gunfire. The ape winked freeing the stunned old man. “Gorilla warfare.” “How do we oppose this usurper?” the duchess asked. “He needs his army to maintain power,” the knight answers. Her glare is sharp. “An attack is suicide.” “His mercenary army could be bribed.” “My coffers are rather empty.” “His are full, and poorly guarded.” He looked at the latest world map. At the craters where cities had been. “Did the aliens nuke us, Daddy?” “No, kinetic strikes. With asteroids.” “Like the dinosaurs, Daddy?” “Yes, Sweetie,” he shivered. “Get your coat, and your mother. We need to go.” They come with guns and dreams of empire. We come, women with wine and fruit. Hungers are sated, surrender assumed. We smile as cursed fruit is eaten and screams begin. Seeds grow into trees within them. A terrible rending begins our conquistador grove. I watched the titan king fall in ‘33. Now, six years to the day, I stand in a trance of terror where the thirty-foot ape faced the biplanes. His kin climb for me as Manhattan burns below. The king had a kingdom, and mankind was no match for it.