jeffrey jones

mounting the rhythm again,
i push.
stamping out fear through the soles of these feet.
a devotee screams, and shivers out;
a base bass of arrhythmic proportions.

in my blood in my blood in my blood.

i sing a song so old, only stones understand the sound.
the fires beneath, toss, and coil,
and i am alone in this time, this rhythm, this heat.
existing only for Mad Gods,
and the serpents...
writhing through the chambers of my heart.

404 Documents, Installment Five: Interrogation.

(Read all 404 Documents)

The interrogation room was nothing special. An office conference room. The ceiling fan whirred slowly overhead and the fluorescent lights flickered, flooding the interior with a dingy and unnaturally greenish yellow hue. The man seated opposite me was husky, forty-something going on seven-hundred, and world-weary. I could tell this from the lines and bags under his eyes, like the rings on the inside of a hewn tree. Those sunken circles made his face seem like that of a raccoon's, which may have been comical in any other setting.

“I’m Agent Trevino,” he said, the tone of his voice doing nothing to dispel my narrative.