When the Dew Drops

The air is still and
the is night black,
disturb with frightening auras,
down on life, high on crack.

Freaks become shadows,
as still as the night.
Waiting for some soul,
that next BIG FRIGHT.

She comes gently, cautiously,
along her fearsome way.
The warm night air grows cooler,
and she wishes it were day.

He immediately spots  apprehension,
and from it he draws his power.
That almighty tool that will
make him tower and her cower.

She approaches.
He draws his blade.
As she passes by, a flash of reflected light is drawn from the shade.

As night air grew cooler,
the Dew began to drop.
His hand jerked over her mouth,
for him there would be no stop.

Her foot jerked back upward,
and he bent over in pain.
In anger, he thrust his blade at her.
In a flash, he lay slain.

A gentle mist rose from the ground,
as she sat dazed on the street corner.
A bright glow rose in the East.
Suddenly, she felt like a foreigner.

A woman's voice approached,
"What happened? Are you okay?"
The tale of the attack was told
and the officer saw the light of day.

The Sun shone brightly
enough for all to see.
But house remains locked up,
and no one has the key.