Intro..                                                                           ...Back
Draw...                                                                           ..Along
Poems..                                                                           ...More

       I put my foot on the deck and shadows swirled everywhere.
       Crouching Lena stood up and took a quick step forward.
       Two shotgun blasts pinned her against the railing and third threw her overboard.
       A hot barrel emerged from the flickering gloom:  and pressed into the center of my
chest.
       It hissed.
       I moved it under my armpit with quick punch:  and stabbed the assailant deep under
the respirator.  
       He knelt down and bled on my thighs  - while the other black ghosts surrounded us:
disarmed us: and tied our hands.
       "Kill all: but the green one:" said a high-pitched:  speaker-distorted male voice:
"let her watch."

       A large searchlight carved a cold yellowish arena for death around me.

       When I was dragged below deck  - there were other stages -  in the open rooms with
stiff bodies of men: women and children.

       Death played one of its great scenes here today:  and it chose me as its spectator
to watch the top performances of its favorite uniformed actors.

       I understood that its show is called genocide.

       "Why does the admiral want her alive?"  asked the burly corporal:  who was holding
my right shoulder.
       "I don't know.  She's the green bitch from Lyra.  I think: he wants to execute her
publicly:" said the ensign:  as if I wasn't even there:  and pushed me into an empty food
storage.
       I laid face down on the floor: and tried not to think about the white baby fingers
sticking out from under dirty blanket.
       It didn't work:  so I stood up:   walked around:  and tried not to think about the
white baby fingers sticking out from under the dirty woolen blanket - but nothing worked. 
       I laid down again and closed my eyes  - it was a little girl  - and she had purple
nail polish chipped on her pinky and ring finger.
       I remembered my childhood room: and for a sweet five seconds: my mind wandered off
into dreamland among the treasures of my mother's old double layer cosmetic case    - but
under the brushes and powder puffs there was a small purple bottle..
       When a muffled thud came from behind the door:  anger and despair completely over-
whelmed me.

       "Do you want to leave?" Lena asked me as she entered: and wiped the blood from her
face - a wild arctic blizzard was ravaging the winter landscape behind her eyes.