Standing in his bedroom, gazing out
on New York City over the rooftops.
Blanketed by dark angry clouds,
pummelled by millions of raindrops.
Reminiscing, replaying wicked old "battle"
memories repeatedly in his head.
The kids are asleep, it's late, fuck it,
might as well just go to bed.
Hours later a silent alarm, some built in
sixth sense, jerks him wide awake.
Reaches quickly for his blade, relaxing minutes later,
as the rush slowly begins to fade.
Looks out the window, It's on, he can feel it.
As the cat cowers in fear under some clothes.
Curling up from the pit of his stomach, to that
irritating itch at the top of his nose.
Suddenly she's visible, a massive shadow,
blotting out the nightsky to his right.
Drifting steadily towards the building,
like some esurient creature of the night.
She's GhosteD, in full battle mode,
devoid of lights, color or sound.
The hunt is over, whatever they've been
searching for, they've just found.
An effulgence of blueish green light
and then from thin air they appear.
Four, armed and ready standing in the living room.
The cat reacts violently, bolting away in fear.
Suited alike, dark helmets, shiny black visors,
silvery gray combat suits, covered from neck to toe.
One steps forward and speaks.
They're waiting son, it's time to go.
No need to pack, no tickets to look for,
no goodbyes or lengthy phone calls.
Somewhere in the distance, the urgent sound
of helicopters begin to penetrate the walls.
Rouse the kids, frantically searching for the cat,
trying to keep them all calm.
Years of waiting, hoping, praying,
seconds in the light and they're all gone.
The old "warriors" are all here,
hundreds, thousands, it's hard to tell.
No one has spoken, but he knows the routine,
ayndria has taught him well.
Seven steps to the chair and without hesitation,
raises his head and begin to recite the "sound".
Don't think, she used say, it's in you son,
relax, just don't stop till it's done.
Finishes, breathlessly waiting,
seconds pass, the silence is excruciating.
If for some reason he has failed, this is the end,
not a another storied beginning.
But then one by one they begin to respond,
heads raised, echoing as one, that familiar, powerful,
hypnotic "hum".
They're the children, he's their KING,
it's time, the new "frenzy" has begun.
"What you choose to believe is your problem, your beliefs
do not affect the facts, just your ability to
deal with them." AK--98
Alien King - Galaexy Rising - copyright © 1998-99 ahkenaton All rights reserved.