By Steve Bolin
It�s Tough to be a Kid
It�s tough to be a kid, (I haven�t flipped my lid) What I say is not exaggeration. Around the time for bed, weird things up in my head, Come alive from my imagination.Take for example, and this is just a sample, (In fact, you�ll likely think me quite insane) While brushing at my sink, and quicker than a blink, Piranhas swam out my bathtub drain!
I picked a towel up off the floor, (this has happened once before) I gave each fish a snap upon its head. Back down the drain they go, they are quite sad I know, �Cause they have to leave my bathroom now unfed.
I�m thinking that instead, of climbing into bed, I should�ve stopped to shut the bathroom door. �Cause now mom�s loudly telling, (actually she�s yelling) That someone spilled cold water on the floor.
After night time prayers, I lay and blankly stare, (I wait for the weirdness now to come.) The monster�s right on time, but I�m feeling mighty fine, �Cause I know that he�s predictable and dumb.
In the shadows I see lurking, a big slug that just sits smirking, He thinks he�ll get me before I even shout. He slides out the closet door and slimes across my floor, (His mess is something mom will yell about!)
I�m glad it�s just the slug and not a giant bug, (Or a spider whose temper gets much hotter.) I don�t have to run; I�ve got my new squirt gun, It�s completely filled up with salt water.
My finger�s on the trigger; he�s closer now and bigger, (This time last month it was a monster squid.) I squirt the freak of slime and think inside my mind, Sometimes it�s really tough to be a kid.
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There's a Human Under My Bed!
It was time to go to sleep, that's what Mom had said.
But Marty was afraid, so scared that he cried,
He couldn't go to sleep, no matter how he tried.
He hid under the blankets, with a pillow over his head,
He just knew there was a Human, hiding beneath the bed.
Marty yelled for mother, could she check beneath his bed,
There was a Human hiding, and they were scary, so he'd read.
And if it wasn't any trouble, could she check the closet too,
Little Humans were quite sneaky, who knew what they might do?
Why it might be a little girl, or even worse a little boy,
He just knew one was hiding, and could she check behind that toy?
Humans were quite creepy, oh, he'd heard such awful things,
How they had tails, scales and horns, and even had big wings!
His mom searched high and low, she even looked beneath a ring,
She looked for Humans everywhere, but couldn't find a thing.
Mom searched all his room; there was no place that she missed,
She finally said to Marty, "Maybe Humans don't exist!"
His mother kissed him softly, and picked a toy up off the floor,
She turned the lights out in his room, and quietly shut the door.
"Didja hear that?" Marty whispered, "Didja hear what Momma said?"
"Now there'd better not be Humans, anywhere beneath my bed!"
Marty went to sleep after listening for any spooky sounds,
He convinced himself that Humans would never come around.
There's a moral to this story that kids should listen to:
Don't be afraid of monsters, 'cause they're more afraid of you!
Call of the Dead
With prodding that scolds me, I�ve done what they�ve told me,
Two beings full of pride, my hands spread open wide,
My nerves start to shake; the ground starts to quake,
They claw and they toil, to dig out of the soil,
I can no longer fight, these creatures of the night,
With a will not my own, these decay-covered bones,
I think I understand, that to lead this zombie band,
Though lifeless I now stood, saw Death�s face-covered hood,
Suddenly hunger pains, are driving me insane,
No longer am I forgiving, to those who still are living, Alienated
When radio waves from Voyager XXXVIII sent the first pictures of an approaching armada entering our solar system, multiple attempts at communication were immediately made. They were fruitless.
When their intentions remained unannounced, we assumed the worst - alien invasion. Global panic followed the news. Thousands worldwide sacrificed themselves to avoid the potential horror of capture and torment.
The gargantuan ships passing over Earth were so numerous they temporarily eclipsed the afternoon sun. Unexpectedly, the advancing fleet never stopped, never paused. They disregarded us in passing as we would overlook ants on our way to the grocery store. They continued onward in maddening silence.
Astronomers monitored the alien's movements as they passed us by. They continued sun-ward towards the next planet. The clouds of Venus swallowed the entire armada fleet as they descended on Earth's planetary neighbor.
The robotic probes we sent to view the aliens in the habitat of their new home were complete failures. All were shot down by the same automated planetary defense mechanisms the aliens used to eliminate meteorites.
Although an occasional ship can sometimes be seen leaving or entering the Venusion atmosphere of their new home, they've still made no attempt at communication. Our own signals to them continue to be ignored to this day.
We humans are so arrogant. How we ever could've thought they'd be interested in us is beyond imagination.
Still, we do hate being snubbed. There are few things in this universe worse than rude aliens.
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My Big Night Home
One night while at home, I went to answer the phone,
Her name was Susan Dawn, and with my parents gone,
I certainly had no fear, as I put the phone up to my ear,
Oh it would be bliss, to give her a little kiss,
I told her of her beauty, and how she was a real sweet cutie,
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About the Author Steve Bolin's
publishing credits include: There's A Human Under My Bed, a poem which won a place in Half Price Bookstore's 5th annual bedtime story contest. Three tales of dark fantasy have been published by Dark Moon Rising; Smoke Scream (Feb. '04), Hate Mail (Jun. '04) and The Spider (Dec. '04). Another poem, Call of the Dead, was published in Jan. '05 by Black Petals. Both DMR and BP are magazines of Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror.
With the exception of a four-year hitch in the U.S. Navy, he has been a lifelong resident of Indiana. Happily married for 23 years, he formerly worked at GM as a Machine Repairman and now writes full time. Mr. Bolin has recently finished his first novel, a tale of high fantasy, and expects to see it published sometime next year.
At the moon hanging bloated in the sky.
The chill wind is bringing, dead voices all singing,
With howls shouting, �Tonight you will die!�
My mind�s left no decision; my body is a prison,
My will�s replaced by an insane command.
Unheard is my insistence, I have no more resistance,
I�m lead to a cemetery plot of land.
I�m directed to this yard full of graves.
Underneath earthly plots, countless corpses all rot,
Their dead voices scream to me in waves.
Like a director conducting his choir.
My fingers brightly spark, from my hands lightning arcs,
Electricity strikes the headstones all with fire.
The earth rumbles like creatures wanting out.
Lost are thoughts of hoping, when graves all split wide open,
I bite my tongue to silence screaming shouts.
An Undead Army soon stands up before me.
Smelling rotted, decayed, and maggots displayed,
Their expressions say that they adore me.
They possess my soul now so firmly bound.
Like stars brightly falling, I see this: My calling,
The purpose of my life has now been found.
Have chosen me as captain this night.
As the zombies all stand, a gun�s put in my hand,
It�s raised to my temple, pressed up tight.
I must now become one of these undead.
I don�t remember pain, as the slug passed through my brain,
I stood there with a hole now through my head.
He offered me eternal undead life.
Now one of them I see, this Army follows me,
We�ll cut our path out like a surgeon�s knife.
Instinctively I knew what we�d all need.
Just beyond these graveyard gates, a city of flesh awaits,
I lead my legions through the night to feed.
They can�t escape despite what they may do.
The living will be beaten, when their flesh we all have eaten,
When we�re done with them, we�ll come for you!
We humans are so arrogant.
For I could clearly hear it ringing.
It had to be a Godsend, for I knew it was my girlfriend,
The thought of her face had me singing.
I could talk real sweet with no one to overhear.
I thought of what to say, and how to put it the right way,
But I was so nervous that my thoughts they weren't too clear.
I started whispering before she could even speak.
I told her she was fine, and that I wanted to make her mine,
I told her how she made my knees grow weak.
It'd be heaven if our lips could briefly meet.
Then I told her, "Please, could I give you a little squeeze;
I know that I could sweep you off your feet."
I said her angelic face was like no other.
But I thought that I would choke, when at last she finally spoke,
"Listen, young man, this is your Mother!"
