Fighting the knot
A knot of rope emerges from a background of night storm clouds, now it is riding down a staircase of sky, flapping towards me on leathery wings. Putting a knot in my stomach and a chill down my spine that I am shrugging away and away; but it keeps coming. I much desire to cut it.
It has uncoiled, a length of fair rope. Gripping the end with my left hand and a sword's handle with my right hand I am cutting it up: hacking downwards catching it between the blade and a hard surface beneath.
Only harmless fibres remain.
But I can't destroy the part that I'm holding without letting it go. I let go, it jumps away. Cutting, hacking does no good: it bounces away. I'm at it for a long time but I can't catch it.
I think about burning. Burning it with a flamethrower. That is a release, burning works, it doesn't jump any more, the flames are allover: burning, soothing, cooling.
Seeing his face now, pointing the flamethrower at it. At the fat O standing for his face. Hurling fire I wonder, I can't believe it. His big face burns!
© Anthony Thwaites