Backyard Warfare

The last light clicked to black, and a dark ecosystem emerged. Phosphorous wings and even darker tails condensed into matte art. The observation game had begun.

The trees had formed an army. They were the military – the bastions and tanks that led an assault on our stucco walls. They grasped their green shurikens with haunted arms that flowed through windy currents. That deep life sugar beneath them swam through interconnected electrical wiring and across a city network. Molasses was their currency. It transacted carbon dioxide for water, for oxygen. The leaves paid. Their siren song was barely audible but acute. It was a barrage of arrows shot by the god of archery.

Stars provided celestial support. They merged into regiments: Big Dipper, Orion, Taurus, Leo, Aquarius, Aries. They reflected their solar waves. Some stars were planets in disguise. They infiltrated and undermined constellations through light interference – a natural antibody. The star canceling metropolises and air congestion projected empowerment, a unified city.

The opossum, “Mr. Furry Face,” was a war hero. He was the conqueror of worlds and an enemy of canines. Every night, with his captaining gait, he communicated the assault, traversed the parapets above black grass. These marches represented a sly confidence – an unearthed power. His home was a square foot hole, however, a tiny space for this secret tyrant. It was ironic that such a mammoth creature in our yard could be mere prey beyond its borders, bald rations for the king of beasts.

***

Even after fifteen years, our protective walls have remained un-breached. Only microscopic particles and insects circumvented the barrier. Their size made them into covert agents, an infiltrator of nature and architecture. They eventually became victims to the swatter.

As I advanced, I saw two creepy globes. My eyes swung backwards in panicked fear as I was drawn full circle. There was a distant, rapid thudding. Had the barrier been bypassed?

Despite my extensive analytical preparation, I felt unprepared for this war, this showdown with darkness. Only as I looked behind me and saw that I was a visibility cloak enveloped by impalpable shadow did it truly feel real. The windows had become the walls of my golden cage; my mind had become a carver that burnished an unassuming suburb and now my room. I closed my eyes and then opened them.

The spheroids blinked.

I felt the ghost of myself floating up into the midnight air.

***

Samuel Posten is an aspiring poet and philosopher born in Plano, Texas. He currently attends St. Mark's School of Texas. Despite his unrequited love for science fiction and dystopian novels, he has instead chosen to focus on nature and society to invoke catharsis in himself and his readers. His work appears in Pandemonium Journal and Tabula Rasa Magazine, among others. When not living vicariously through poetry, he enjoys reading, running, and going to dinner with his friends.