Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Snap Shot Theater: He Bends the Iron

In the blue, metallic silhouette he bends the iron.

Crackling flakes, ferric embers shaking like chaff off the rods.

He bends the iron.

Sitting, bending low, hunched over, the thinker, meditating on his trial.

He bends the iron.

A stray glance, he spies them, observing from behind concealed surfaces. Eyes burning with resentment greet him, his own. He sees the inner darkness coming out of him, hiding behind gray eyes.

He bends the iron.

The stool, creaks and bends underneath him. Metal roughs the concrete, chipping away stone. He tips to one side, and feels the world turning on the axis.

He bends the iron.

Two, long, years, trapped in the room. He hears them like mice, rattling the rafters above him, below him, all encompassing, they scurry. Long ago he learned not to test them, the mice. Biting energy surges through his buttocks and testicles, reminding him what he is, what he will continue to be.

He bends the iron.

One day, a man enters. He is pale, slender, a stranger. Questions, accusations, allegations, are asked, said. He looks up into the man's eyes and sees fear. He sees his muscles, his hardened skin, his anger and indignation. He will not escape, the man promises. He will endure, "until testing is complete." And Despair takes him.

He bends the iron.

He bends the iron.

He bends the iron.

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