I know what a f*****g lion is!

I know what a f*****g lion is!

A Story by K. Edward Warmoth
"

should have stayed inside and blinked.

"

I stepped out on the porch of my father's house for a cigarette. The fall, brisk air met me at the doorway and ushered me outside. Ignored the slight sting against my skin and dug through my pocket, amidst the change, grabbing my lighter. As I sparked the tab I held so tightly in my mouth, two things simultaneously happened:

 

The moon was full, or so it appeared from the angle I stood. Dogs barked in the distance, whining and whimpering at the divinity the satellite eschewed. And then! a chorus of howls and shrieks erupted from the forest behind my childhood home. The yelps of coyotes burst skyward and soared across the cylindrical curvature of the atmosphere, swirling and tangling themselves in the prickly tree branches and dancing along the dying grass. A chill skipped down my verterbrates as I fought to compare it to something that I heard before. It was then that I realized that it lacked comparison; these cacophonic cries had acted as a soundtrack to this world long before human thought had even begun to compare and contrast it's designs and creations. What I was hearing was the original noise, the original, cacophonic melodies: aggressive and emotional, off-key, yet far more in-tune than any man-made symphony could ever hope to be.

 

As the eerie cries rang forth, I pretended to watch the sonic vibrations tumble across the landscape. With the hollowing feeling of a familiar scent or interval, I realized that the trees and hills and shrubbery and passages that I had come to revere as a child would be gone in thirty years, no doubt suffocating under the concrete of a subdivision or a consumption center. I sucked on my cigarette hard, pulling everything I could out of it to calm my pounding heart.

 

I wanted to monkeywrench every bulldozer.

I wanted to set fire to the monoliths we have built as a culture.

I wanted to put a bullet in the brain of every human who sought to profit off of this land that I saw as inseperable from my existence thus far.

 

We are damned.

© 2011 K. Edward Warmoth


Author's Note

K. Edward Warmoth
check off a ballot, go home and forget. or buy a litre of gasoline and a bottle.

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Reviews

i so know those moments. when you get a small, chilling glimpse into something so completely wild it's almost alien. and you realize how ... insubstantial and, well... completely insane is this world we've created.

i'll pitch in for the gas.

Posted 13 Years Ago



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Added on April 6, 2011
Last Updated on April 6, 2011

Author

K. Edward Warmoth
K. Edward Warmoth

Indianapolis, IN



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no degrees, no merits, no awards, no splendor. more..

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