Our march is one of silence.
- Paul Wong
- Photo Illustration by DAVID KATZ/Daily
The crisp, autumn air provides a
background for this parade
of freaks and juggalos.
The night has been planned through many days.
The eve of hallows has brought
to the children of this world, a time for celebration.
Our fear is no longer felt, but
delivered.
Together scaring others helps us
to embrace and confront the fear we could not conquer alone.
The wind picks up suddenly, sensing
the calm night becoming tense.
A flickering street light offers
little assistance in
chasing away the shadows that have come forth tonight.
We feel ice course through our veins
as our souls become a freeza full of chaos.
Our bodies are covered in black
as we slowly make our way down
stairs and onto the sidewalk.
These cloaks are now symbiotic, encompassing us from head to toe,
and feeding off the dread we inspire into others.
The collection of streets is now our playground
and we look for no where in
particular to go.
This place runs rich with frolicking students,
enough to scare for days to come.
I raise my fist
and the rest draw to a halt.
I become the first to
lower the mask unto my furrowed brow.
All follow but two, tattoos covering their faces instead.
A car of young women unwisely interrupts us.
The ballerina is driving as the pumpkin is crying
and the doors are all locked from within.
Just for sport we surround the car,
shake the doors
and scream.
Balling up and hugging one another
the girls cry for salvation as we
laugh our way onto the next batch of victims.
We gather one last time in
a tightly compacted coil,
tensing our muscles and bearing
our fangs
just waiting to strike.
We begin to hellishly chant
in an intensifying rhythm that is
as sickeningly compelling as an auto accident,
fascinating in its own
morbid way.
An ear-piercing shriek cuts through the
October air, awakening the true creatures
of the night.
Our group is no longer limited to eight
but is now the embodiment of all that is Halloween.
We no longer dance,
We no longer shriek,
But the hoods do little to hide our veneer of terror.
Once again we march in silence.