Gargoyle

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Delbert H. Rhodes

Perched on a mountaintop he waits. Soon, the time comes; he readies for the kill. The ways of human life abandoned long ago; now, he lives in the wild; now, he is wild.

Born to human parents, Jonathan Argo, by the age of two months, was noticeably different. Even as an infant he seemed different; a difference his parents neither cared to recognize nor to admit. Jonathan never received medical attention. His parents believed that the boy would grow out of it; well, he grew into it.

The wooded areas called to him; often, Jonathan ventured there. One day he simply vanished never to be seen again. Before leaving his home, the young child had already acquired a nickname; because of his vertical pupils, large head, claw-like hands, feet fortified with talons; and rather than pinky fingers, two opposing thumbs on each hand, and strange gait, the name “Gargoyle” was given by Jonathan’s Dad.

Gargoyle has lived in the wild for the past six years; he is now nine years old. His body continues to change; and he grows larger and stronger. Spread, his beautiful wings span thirty feet, the folding mechanisms neatly tuck them, Gargoyle ambulates without hindrance. Standing semi-erect the giant is nine feet tall. His stance is slightly bent, otherwise, he towers at ten and one half feet.

Whenever in attack mode, a fluffy silvery mane courses from his forid to the base of his skull. The remainder of Gargoyle’s body is hairless. The creature’s bony structure is a dense but hollow composition. Marrow like material fills the cavities, acting to counter balance weight yet applying density. The bones are stronger than any substance known to man. A miracle at three hundred pounds Gargoyle is invincible.

A marvel to mystery: the wonder is how humans produced such a creature. The question, one day, to be pondered by scientific minds. Gargoyle’s highly developed brain makes him immensely intelligent; his strategies and tactics register to higher degrees than the best of mankind’s Militaries. This beast is a devastating machine of war, a Prince of Power.

Human diseases have no affect and injuries heal instantaneously. Gargoyle has one weakness, sustained periods without——sorry, secret.

Previously, he fed on smaller creatures of the wild. Maturing, Gargoyle (now) seeks larger prey, and especially human prey. His teeth and jaw are designed for biting, holding and ripping; his fangs are long and razor-sharp; the jaw muscles large and powerful. Gargoyle rips through bone like a knife through butter. The grasping ripping curves of the appendages are masterful in creation.

The keenly sharp retractable claws and talons serve as highly effective and efficient weapons: consciously released by Gargoyle’s auto tactic targeting systems and scatter lock visual fields, prey is DBA: Dead Before Arrival. He simply thinks, targets, takes.

The musculature is lean smooth and streamlined; the biomechanics are superbly without flaw. A tiny tail with curve extends from the base of the spine, nothing of this creature is left to chance, in close quarter combat the tail acts as a small spear; but then, he has no rivals. Unequalled at the kill, this newborn is beautiful to behold.

Gargoyle is swift, agile and undetectable. As human eyes react to light, his skin reacts to darkness; hormonal coupling supplied by his blood configures a cloaking mechanism. With exception to reflective shine in his eyes, Gargoyle cannot be heard, he cannot be seen, he cannot be stopped. His senses are superior to every creature; already they revere him; in the wild this Mutant is Master.

The taste of blood is sweet. Perched atop a mountain: it ponders the kill, the time has come; tonight and forever, Gargoyle feeds on human kind, a kind not his.

Not a Father’s Son

Delbert H. Rhodes

His mind sinking his body hurting the stars stare down at him, his vision dimming. The pounding of his heart seems louder than the sounds of his breathing. As a boy, he often visited this beach, and now this would be his last. Out there, the waves swell, as stars swim back and forth in the water.

The dune upon which he lies was his favorite as a child. Snake tracks ever graced its sands and fluffy turf, but the creature was never about. The dune pushed him higher while the sky leaned closer, the clouds brushing his face. The boy loved thinking, the daydreamer he walked inside his thoughts, and the adult, the curious storyteller. No matter its  influences, thinking is passionate, private. Now privacy and thinking have little to offer him, as he openly lives his final moments. Odd: that a man could blindly perish in plain sight. Years ago, his great-great grandmother met with death here.

This man has experienced many things, yet one thing would never be his. You see, at the age of fourteen the boy asked of his father, everything a curiosity. “He stopped coming to see you when you were four years old,” his mother’s eyes looking at yesterday. His aging ears replayed her voice, and now the words swim with his mind. “Strange,” he quietly says, “to live and die without a father’s love. ‘I am not a father’s son.’”

 A chilly night, and the trees hush the winds, crickets blow whistles, as ancestral arms embrace the lost man. Like a loving mother, the night keeps vigil, she watches him. Slowly, the feelings in his legs lessen, and coldness blankets him. “Del, bring me a wash cloth.” He remembers how seeing his naked mother always embarrassed him. Strange how the mind works, the taste of Bazooka Bubble gum slides around his tongue, a smile seduces his cheeks.

His breathing suffers; he feels trapped. He has no children, he has only death; the connective links of mind and body deteriorating, somehow, the man reaches into his pocket. The carcass of an old reptile lies near him, its body cold and his body cooling. Death is romantically ironic, unwittingly; the viper and the man finally meet. Darkness closes his eyes, and soon, a paper flies away from his hand. During an early morning run, a man finds the body and within a few yards, a paper in the sands:

Father’s Day

 Where is my dad
Oh hear me say
Who do I call
On Father’s Day 

To the skies I look
(And) God sits there
To Him I cry
To me a stare 

Oh, daddy, daddy
Where are you
In a world of colors
My color is blue 

On that last day,
I close my eyes
Fatherless I have lived
My father dies

Copyright © 2007-2014 Delbert H. Rhodes