There I came into her house and saw her, strained, yet still alive,
Her figure once strong and full of life now was slightly waspish.
A gnarled finger, covered in dust and sweat, lifted then and told me what she would need,
A lockbox green and shrouded would be stashed in vines of green.
I stumbled now, into the woods, shielding my face from the sun.
A mass of vines were thick and dense and scratched my skin quite raw.
Higher I climbed and thicker they grew, their vibration causing me quite a toll,
Yet finally, there it sat- a little ajar- this lockbox that would save her dying soul.
There I came back in her house, with grandmother’s dying request,
An alkaline cloud diffused from the chimney as people circled the table, laying out holiday plates.
A gas mask rested upon each head, these relatives, blood of mine,
The fog grabbed and stung on my bare throat as I staggered through, leaving them all behind.
Was I too late? Had this murderous crew ended her fear induced insomnia?
Was this thin light body cloaked somewhere, empty hands waiting for her treasure?
I held a cloth over my mouth, vitiating my senses the fog was now too thick,
I passed each person, dining in their masks, shoveling their stuffing down quick.
Eyes rolled through the glass as each gaze questioned my offending motive,
I was lost, but determined to fight the butchery, of this maddening world gone barbaric.
So I ventured on, despite the terror and the fog blinding my ability to see,
She needed this gold, this hidden treasure she had constructed, to aid her on our own Odyssey.
Written for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Prompt.