it's two in the morning, the dim light from the 700 club
is the only thing that defends the house from the grip of darkness.
out of thin air, a determined pounding on the door.
"check the windows, mary." she mulls it over.
overtaken by fear but curiosity sparks the adrenal glands.
she finally stands and inspects the outside
ultimately safe from the terrors that may lurk in the distance.
but in an instant her beloved domicile could become a manic death trap.
she lays back down, feeling accomplished. evil has been defeated.
as she picks up the remote to change the channel, the atmosphere changes with it.
windows, walls, doors. beaten in various pitches with nonrhythmic rapidity.
sue is awoken almost instantly. the fear numbs them, an ice cold chill.
they run to mary's mother. one last bastion of safety in this chaotic drumming.
the choir of angels clearly contains no percussionists.
ignore the other possibility, mary. dignifying with thought will give it credence.

"mom! help!"

she groans in the darkened room, her voice thrown about.
a low moaning.
"in a minute, mary"

"mom, there are people knocking all over the house."
"in a minute, mary"

they've gotten her, mary. she's done for. how do you know that ominous voice
is even your mother's? perhaps she's already been murdered.
now you're in his house. what an awfully big knife you have, intruder.
all the better to gut you with.

reaching for the light, but afraid to know the truth.
the same instinct rears its head that brought her to the window.
as the light flicks on, there lay the mother of mary, face down on the floor.
diabetic coma.
she would have been dead.
she would have been dead had they not found her then and there.

"thank you", says mary under her breath, to the unwelcomed guest.
when her mother regains consciousness after her medicine.
do you believe in angels?

this is a true story. my friend's mother and her friend, as children, were up late. they heard knocking, ignored it. it stopped for a matter of seconds then became exponentially more extreme. knocking all over the house. pounding. they ran upstairs into the mother's dark bedroom. they cried for help but the only response was a low, muffled, menacing "in a minute, mary."

when they turned on the light, the mother was on the floor unconscious in a diabetic coma. they ran to the bathroom and gave her her shots and she regained consciouness. the story always makes me shiver even if it is on the side of good.
That was an unbelievable story. You know those Myspace bulletins people post sometimes post that start with a boy loving a girl and then the boy dies or something and the objective is to make you feel moved or whatever? No Myspace? Eh.. Anyway. This kind of had a similar effect for me personally except on a completely different level. Your writing is very mature, wise, and draws me in with an intriguing use of words. I thought the word "adrenal" was out of place. I'm not even sure why. The piece seems to flow so naturally with the phrases "sitting" and "hitting" that you threw in.

Overall, this was a pretty impressive piece. I'm typically reluctant to use prose style pieces because it's hard for me to find a rhythm in it. And that's what I expect in a lyrics forum. However, despite not being able to find rhythm in this, I was drawn in by your style of prose. Great vocabulary as well.
thank you. as for the rhythm, it's something i'm still searching for. my writing seems to always be very abrasive (to me anyway) and sometimes not so much like a song, but rather a collection of phrases.

thank you for reading and commenting.
I don't really know how I feel about this piece. Abrasive is a good word to use, I would say.

Is it meant to be a song though? It doesn't feel like one to me. It is...caught in a limbo between poetry and prose. Or that is how I felt when I read it. I don't particularly care for the subject matter, but I am trying to put that beside the point and look at the writing. I felt like the story could have been told in a better way, in a way that I may have perhaps liked what it was about. But the poetic aspects of it are impeccable and extremely well done. Nice flow that I hardly even noticed, which, to me, is good. Subtlety.

Good job.
thank you. to be honest, i have no idea what it is either.

i was recounting the story in chat and thought it'd make a good song. and it began as a song idea but i just kept writing and posted it. came out very strangely.
tbh, i thought it could've done without the verb repitition, i.e.: "hitting, hitting" and "pounding, pounding." it kind of gives an Edgar Poe-"ish" touch to it that's a tad detrimental to the intensity you're trying to convey. at least from a reading standpoint; it could be way different if you made it into a song.
i did like the way you bolded "his" near the end, concerning the house. it made a good accent for the read. matter of fact, too, i really liked the subject matter. it ended on a decent note also, imo.
There's a road that leads to the end of all suffering. You should take it.

- Jericho Caine

secret, aaaaagent maaan.
secret, aaaaagent maaan.
The repetition, I'm afraid, is dragged down in to undeniable depths of hatred inside of me as things like that remind me of GCSE anthology poetry.

Think going through this after a while and after it's stopped reading so easily in your brain because of how obvious every word is from having written it and just do what you want with it, I'm not going to give advice other than for the thing that really hit me.

I liked it. I, as ^ did, love the bolding of him. You've got to be able to just strengthen it together a bit. Afraid that's all I can say. Just tighten it.
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
this reeked of pretension, i'm afraid.

the verb repetition was reminiscent of a mildly irritating poe impressionist and the unfortunate alteration of form meant it was really quite impossible to become involved in this directly. I also felt that it's intentions were relatively... well, absent. This doesn't seem to be didactic in any sense, neither is it particularly tragic or humorous. I suppose your intention was to scare or evoke some kind of emotion in the reader? This is difficult because you've really not identified your characters (or even copped out with a stereotype that allowed us some degree of recognition). The fact that Mary is in a seemingly bothersome situation doesn't interest me remotely - I have no idea who she is. She could be the aggressor, for all I know (of course, that isn't the case and only an extremely pedantic reader would genuinely look into such immediate detail, but... you know).

Back to the form thing... At first you seem to be entirely serious, albeit with that air of slight eccentricity encouraged through poesque adjective repetition - i was beginning to enjoy the piece when i subconsciously noted that you could have taken a mimetic approach to the narrative and be indicating the lead characters exaggeration of a fairly mundane event. This didn't prove to be the case, and you proceeded to (swiftly) delve into what comes across as a rather detached and mildly satirical narrative - "what an awfully big knife you have intruder" (i thought the red-riding-hood reference was preposterous, btw).

My advice would be to set your target audience or narrative tone in stone (of course, you can deviate if it is to the benefit of the piece) before really progressing. This read like a writing exercise and, believe me, it does demonstrate a clear potential in creative writing, but the piece itself, i believe, was poor.

No need to return crit, I hope I haven't been overly harsh or critical. It's all well-intentioned.