(based on ‘tumbling hair’ by E. E. Cummings)
 
 
she came often to this fragrant field, this smiling little girl
with golden hair tumbling as she skipped. the buttercups &
violets welcomed her. the daisies, despite their ill tempers,
were almost joyful to give up their lives to her hand.
 
this was her alpha, to gather these small gifts of nature &
share them with others. her village was blessed with peace,
and no evil occurred there or in this field.
 
but on this day, another was there, watching. the sorrow in his
eyes gave testament to his regret, his compulsion. he had seen
her before, alone & unprotected, in this field, & his terrible hunger
was conceived & grew.
 
it was not his fault, he assured himself. It was the command of the
‘demon’ within that ruled him. like Pontius Pilate, he washed his hands
of his guilt, as he pursued his alpha, & committed his fatal deed…
 
the angels observed this deed, as they observed all deeds on this
revolving planet. but they were present only to bear witness, they
were not permitted to interfere. being gentle creatures, their witnessing
made them weep, & their tears became the cold rain that coats
the earth.
 
that beautiful things grow, nourished by that rain,
is the irony of it.
 
and the fragrant fields of beautiful things, the daisies & buttercups,
will attract other little girls. and those little girls, who are made of
innocence & purity & the illusion that nothing bad will ever happen,
will attract other monsters.
 
this is our story as we know it.