Slumber Parties By Rachael Jones

 

Four girls all fifteen, one lies on the floor,

Not a breath was taken, no movement made.

Repeat of any other sleepover,

All things accounted for, the rules were made.

Not a single male, no boys in sight,

Except for the man unsuspectingly

Standing at the window, wearing all black,

Peering with his unchanged deceitful stare.

Obliviously chatting away, laugh-

ter rushes through the halls carried on the

cool summer breeze drifting from the window.

 

The girls carrying on, gossiping of 

boys, not realizing there was a noise.

Outside he waits, still peeking in, finding

A box. Like the flame leaving a candle,

Lights vanish, screams breach the sound barrier.

Nails on a chalk board as hands break the glass,

Fingers laced tight together, polish smeared.

His boots knock to the floor, pacing towards

The huddled pile of whimpering bodies.

Four girls all fifteen, now one on the floor

Not a breath was taken, no movement made.

Like a cobra, sitting high swaying back 

And forth, back and forth, coils tight, waiting for

The moment to instantaneously

Strike. Beams of light shot through the door, casting

A glare of luminous colors of the

Light spectrum, gleaming down as it was sent

From the heavens. The police have arrived.

Four girls all fifteen, one lies on the floor.