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The Wakened

An Epic Poem

By Kourtney RisherPublished 7 years ago 6 min read
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The Wakened

I.

Waking up from a slumber enveloped in a haze of Seroquel,

The apathetic sloth of a homosapien feels more akin to a bi-polar bear.

At 25 years, he hops out of bed the way he popped out of his mother’s womb:

roaring like a dragon ready to scorch the earth to mere rock and rubble.

The Wakened gazes into his mirror mounted on his bedroom closet,

abhorred at the embodiment of Jabba the Hut staring back.

The window of the soul takes him into the vast abyss of mistakes and failures.

A voice floating in the black ether taunted him.

INDIFFERNCE! INACTIVTIY! PESSIMISM! IDLENESS! FEAR! IGNORANCE!

The Ether cackles and never ceases.

The Wakened’s cerebral scream would make Sindel grind her teeth.

Storming out of the door, he runs around the block for the first time in years.

For two minutes, he felt the energetic streak lost a lifetime ago.

For a fleeting moment, the spirits of Hermes and the Flash took a hold of him.

An apparition of an aspiring Michael Jordan was starting to form, smiling.

Then MJ wheezed,

morphing back into Jabba the Hut as he bent over on his buckling knees.

USELESS FAT SACK OF MANURE.

The Ether cackled.

The Wakened responded with manic laughter of his own,

piercing the depths of hell.

Buried under the chasms of his past, a familiar Daemon emerged.

The Wakened sprinted back into the house,

fueled by testosterone and deep seeded fury that would make Lyssa wet.

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror.

In the time that it took to sprint into the house, he had dropped 100 lbs.

The thick chunk of fat around his face had deteriorated,

his skin contoured around his facial structure.

His bone density rivaled that of the Grim Reaper.

The veins in his eyes resembled the river of blood that had washed over Egypt in the Book of Exodus.

The ear to ear grin that could span 100 miles had not subsided since the Daemon woke from his slumber.

Grinding his teeth as though he was sharpening a katana with them,

The Wakened, transformed, spoke at last, “There you are.”

The Daemon walked out of the bathroom…

but not before throwing the Wakened into the Chasm of Memories.

II.

The Wakened fell for what seemed like an hour,

despite falling at a rate that made light speed comparable to the pace of a turtle.

Darkness swallowed him up

as he descended into the belly of a void of consciousness.

The smell of ash, tears, and blood permeated the void

and the stench choked him a little.

The echoes of screams, the clattering of loose teeth,

and the cries of agony filled his ear drums.

These sensations were way too familiar,

creating a chill in the Wakened’s spine that converted into cranial inflammation.

As he screamed in horrendous agony,

a vision of a young blond child appeared before him.

The Boy was skinny and handsome with greyish-blue eyes that would pass off as wolf’s skin.

The little blondie smiled at him with eyes as wide and red as the dunes of Mars.

“Who are you, mister?”

“No one you know,” replied the Wakened.

The kid cocked his head sideways,

the veins in eyes pulsating and dancing to the rhythm of the Wakened’s heart.

“You’re lying, mister. We know each other,” said the Boy.

A young African American child about the same age walked by,

shorter with a little more weight.

He was by no means portly.

“Alex, meet my new buddy!”

said the Boy as he wrapped his arm around Alex’s shoulder.

Alex smirked as nervously one could fathom,

shaking through every bone his body.

The Wakened could empathize more than anyone.

“Tell me who you are!” the Boy screamed with a stomp and a pout,

holding onto poor Alex even tighter with the vice grip of a boa constrictor.

“Why should I?”

the Wakened barely muttered with a thousand shakes and a quiver.

The Boy, straightening up his harlequin grin,

produced one of those toy Star Wars lightsabers from the 90s.

Green for Luke Skywalker.

With a voice as cold as the NetherRealm, the little Clown Prince replied,

“Okay mister.”

The little turd beat Alex’s face in,

teeth flying through every black seam in the chasm.

Blood sprayed all over the Boy’s porcelain face,

dying the little hell spawn’s golden hair sheer crimson.

When the deed was done the lightsaber had gone full Sith.

Alex’s battered face was swollen.

Then the bruises camouflaged his visage effortlessly into the void,

leaving nothing behind but a pool of blood and a dozen half-shattered teeth.

The boys flashed the Tic-Tacs he called teeth and proceeded to encompass the lightsaber with his worm-like tongue, licking the plasma off the plastic toy.

“Best pals are awesome! But you know that, huh?” the boy said with jubilance as he winked.

The Wakened’s jaw dropped all the way down to Hades.

The Boy let out the call of the Hyena,

almost shattering the nigh-illusory sound barrier.

“You didn’t think I was stupid did ya? I know who you are! Do you?”

The little jester vanished into the void, bouncing with juvenile glee.

A hole in the fabric of the Chasm opened.

The smell of ash seeped in, taking residence in the nasal caverns.

Mouth wide open, as though he had felated a horse,

The Wakened looked up the through the widening schism.

Through the ripple, the Wakened could see nothing

but an atmosphere enveloped in flame.

Lucifer must have downed a keg of gasoline and missed the toilet.

The Daemon’s face eclipsed the inferno ceiling,

flashing the katanas one would call teeth.

His eyes were wide, yet hollow,

filled only with sadistic arousal.

They served as the gates of chaos that would close nevermore.

“Enjoying your new digs, old pal? Are you nice and comfy?” asked the Daemon.

“What do you think, douchebag?” replied the Wakened.

The Daemon cackled once again.

“You give me a gargantuan stiffie when you talk like that.

You are comfortable in the Chasm.

Whether you realize it or not,

you’ve lived there every pathetic second of your life.”

“I don’t remember this place.” said the Wakened.

The Daemon’s perpetual grin flipped over.

His voice deepening with a thunderous growl, the Daemon snapped.

“The reason being that you lost your cajones!

Crying like the little sissy that you are, you cast me in there and buried me!”

His snake of a grin slithered its way back up, unsheathing its fangs.

“But you can’t bury yourself for long can you?

When I was trapped down here under the darkness, so you were you.

When I wheezed under the thin atmosphere, you were wheezing with every breath.

When I was screaming in fits of rage and clawing my way out,

you were sulking in the corner like a toddler who was spanked into submission.

When you were getting fat from pasta, I fed on your mind and soul for sustenance.

Now it’s your turn to breathe in the smoke, scream, and claw.

It’s your turn to feed off of my soul for sustenance.”

“I don’t want to feed from a filthy soul,” said the Wakened.

The Daemon let out a shrill and earth-shaking guffaw.

“You already have, my husky cohort!”

Puzzled, the Wakened yelled with a sudden burst of anger.

“Cohort, you bastard? I’ll rip your black eyes from your hollow sockets!”

The Daemon smiled.

“You’re making me proud already! We’ll make a man out of you yet!”

“I’ll make a sissy out of you

when I tear the hideous Elephant ivory out of your mouth

and shove it in your butt!” quipped the Wakened.

“Quit turning me on, young apprentice!

Now, before get too excited, I leave you to your therapy.”

As the fabric between realms sealed, ash poured through,

is permeating the dark ether filling the Wakened’s airways.

As the screams outside in increased in volume, our hero’s faced twitched.

A smile crept up on the Wakened’s face;

his hyena’s wail sent waves through the fabric of time.

The fire that blazed above blazed below.

That fire would consume all of existence.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Kourtney Risher

I'm a poet and an aspiring novelist from El Dorado, AR.

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