24 June 2012
Entering the competition, Comes one you'd not expect, Standing tall in uniform, Spine straight and erect.
A little girl of maybe ten, In pinafore and tights, Big blue eyes and dark brown hair, With auburn-red highlights.
Tiny, little, willowy thing, With flesh as pale as cream, Eerie, something's not quite right, Not everything's as it seems.
And as you look her over, A gentle smile at your lips, A crackle and a buzz, Lights at her fingertips.
Her mouth is open, beaming, Showing rows of little teeth, Needle sharp and demon-pointed, Her lips were just a sheath.
Innocent little ten year old, Flyaway hair and grin, Not so dainty after all, In fact, she's weighed with sin.
From a pocket at her breast, Of that dark grey pinafore, She pulls a metal object, Your stomach drops to the floor.
Little Alice, as she's called, Now holds a shining gun, She cocks her head and smiles a bit, And asks for you to run.
'It's better if you run, you see, It gives me such a time!' The safety's off, the bullet's prepped, She prepares another crime.
Little Alice. • Opuss № I