Writer 3
City of Monsters
Our Hero's Perspective
Teeth clacked, the huge beast snarled, each black word a vicious lie
"Come with me, don't you see it's safe?" Tongue flicked back slick and sly
The White Knight knew this was the moment he would live or die
Dragged to distant plight, The City of Monsters, if he didn't fight
The beast loomed twice his size, head-on attack was quite unwise
Started running to find a rise and hide disguised beside the skies
The demon roared as he pushed forward, locked in hot pursuit
Slowly reaching toward his torso, he paused and fought the brute
Our hero heaved his swords, slashing, swinging, locked in feud
Thwap! - A hit that caused a bruise but needed more to stop the moves
Our soldier delayed, the beast wrapped his claws over the blades
Given the chance ripped from the hero's hands and thrown in the glades
Not a moment of break, The White Knight took off in a sprint
The beast bounding behind, taking up a spot at the fringe
Soon found himself against a rock wall, his options had thinned
The beast was still coming, noticed now he walked with a limp
But there was nowhere to go, so truly thought he was pinned
Until he realized the mountainside was dotted with slits
So he found the closest one and quickly darted within
Too small and narrow for taller fellows and darker than sin
The beast too large to get in, stayed outside, sat and he waited
As hours passed, the Knight grew aghast, then at last sad and frustrated
There was only one exit he hadn't actually made it
The beast cawed but the truth wasn't matching with statements
"I can make your tummy get full, you must be hungry and cold
Plus when you come with me you'll get some money you know"
What choice was there? Starve in a cave or restart as a slave
After last time in the city it was hard to be brave
Leaving was a charge to the grave, but his life lacked saving
Slowly slid from his secret spot with a white flag waving
The Man's Perspective
His thigh pulsed, swollen and huge as he drove with a bruise
The kid had hit him with sticks, late now, he openly snoozed
Wasn't taking the child home, he knew it wasn't proper there
Kid was awful scared, so this caseworker from foster care
knew he'd have to talk and share that the child was not prepared
to return and reviewing his case, wasn't any shocker there
He had been worked and beaten from his birth so frequent
that he survived was a surprise and kept the worst of secrets
Molestation. The worker felt for the boy all too well
The joy of a shell, for he too had been raised in a similar hell
Vs
Writer 1
Changing of the Guard
I was all alone, just a boy who's at the age of twelve.
Thinking what I'm going through was closer to a raging hell.
Trying to avoid the news, but over viewed the hate they dealt.
I'd weep and cry for days out near the streets beside the station rails.
I realized there's none who'd be alive who knew the pain I felt.
All I had left was just my mother with my sister home.
The monster called the "government" had ripped their clothes and slit their throats
Riddled both with sticks and stones, an image shown of littered bones
Killers fit in business coats, villains fixed as little clones.
A menace, shipped and sent to go and pillage most of civil hope.
The leader of this government? A man who goes by Keenan Hartman.
A snake who beats his workers down, he's world renowned for evil harshness.
With assassinations he's a lock to be the people's target
but the plights would keep failing when he'd be seen in all his demon garments.
Bullets would just rocket off, it shocked us all and made us think
his armor was a devil's skin, it sheltered him and gave him strength.
He also had an amulet, it stands for sin, it's grey and pink.
It was irremovable, it's fastened as a bracelet link.
He'd eat and maim who he had claimed had "ruined his fun".
He had hexed rivals and exiled the druids and nuns
appeared on televisions, "It's the set tradition! Who is the one
that can claim to beat and slay the beast called Lucifer's Son?!"
Then it happened, laying face aghast when I was shocked with a vision
Open lips, I screamed, "Holy shit!!! Momma and Bridget?!?!"
Mom said, "It's ok, son, 'cause now your job is a mission
and you see everything will be ok, so stop and just listen..."
After what my mother stated, I was now the chosen kid.
The demon Keenan's soon to be defeated, I'm supposed to win.
But I'm only twelve, how will I open hell and go within
and vanquish all the suff'ring people's anguish and dispose of sin?
"You could be a million miles away from where the weapons shoot
but still you must stay vigilant, the enemy is next to you..."
This quote had come in to my mind, the thought had left me stupefied
but maybe this is something that could comfort me in useful times.
"Who's there?!?" said an evil voice, a hiss when speaking
I heard the sound and then I turned around, it was Keenan!
I grabbed the knife in which I had to fight against his legion
and screamed "I won't stop stabbing you until you quit the bleeding!!"
I blacked out...
Awoken, I had seen that Keenan died within this epic clash.
The blade had ruptured through with all the puncture wounds to chest and back.
His spirit rose from his body "They say nothing good will ever last,
so I concede my throne to you, I hate to say I've met my match..."
With him dead, I took the bracelet off his wrist, calling for the day to end
My mother reappeared, she sneered and said, "Well done, Damien..."
Vs
Writer 5
The Monster You Know...
… An impatient doorbell …
Unworried she had the courage to answer
An insurance salesman, she was hurrying after
The door creaked opened, “Would you like to come in?”
Her cash kind of with his, it’s no time to resist
He entered, hair slicked back thinking he’s Capone
Stinking of Cuban cigars and cheap cologne
He followed, she hobbled, her aches are hurting her
He plopped himself down on her ageing furniture
The sofa responded with a plume of dust
Particles shot up and mixed with cruel mistrust
A folder he holds with tentative clutching
The space afoul with a sense of corruption
The walls wiped with paintings of big hills and windmills
Anticipating the sale, he couldn't barely sit still
She stood softly and offered a cup of tea to her company
His eyes jarred, reluctantly he said ‘I’d love it, please’
She swooned over tea leaf steam in her tiny kitchen
As our suave salesman recited the most precise of pitching
She returns with shaky hands as tea starts to fall
He stares down at his mug, stained and hardly washed
He holds his drink as she swills her beverage
Knowing one sip down the hatch and he will regret it
Not to be rude, he just aims to sip it
Moving on from the pleasantries, he states his business
He puts his mug down on a table awash with water rings
“Now, let me explain to you what I’m offering
I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s time to do this
I’ve come to your home to sell life insurance
I’d appreciate if you sit back and listen to me”
“I’m sorry, I’m not interested in your pyramid scheme
You come with slimy plots and I aim to thwart it
You’ve only come here so you can claim my fortune”
He knocks over his drink as he would rise to attention
His knees buckle as if under sizeable tension
His sight darkens, he sees the break in his mug
As green liquid spews out as it stains on the rug
“I need to go, what’s happening? What was in that tea?”
“I’m sorry dear, you can’t do that, no one ever leaves”.