SCENE: we're back in the old house
where I long to reside in spite
  of it all but wait there's a long-haired sprite
   akin to The Ring girl circling
     aimlessly in the hallway likely an autonomoid
    waving a captive bolt pistol which
   looks like the one that belonged to your father
  who as a Victor slash Commando admirer
built himself you said it looked like Lego
   he didn't respond kindly to that observation
    a weapon ripe for incapacitation at least
  which we could do without at this juncture
(full disclosure he's buried under the garage)

ACTION: slam the kitchen door and tuck myself
out of sight behind the cooker
  wrestle off my restrictive overcoat
   I just feel freer in shorts and a tee
    grab a rolling pin who even has one of those anymore
     how about a knife, the knifes where are they
    <i>and what are you gonna do with a knife anyway?</i>
   consider hurling cricket ball style at the Ring head
  a chunky mug no that Filippo Berio bottle
the chopping board out of reach is sturdy but I hear a rattling

ACT TWO: my sister's voice urgent from outside 'come now'
I rush for the back door and one step two step
  along the path and onto the lawn follow her down
   to the gate sidle through the 'loose section' then
free into the woods, platonic escape, don't look back

Every step along the grass elicits a satisfying audio thud
the green shades and breezy lollop convincingly rendered
  my sister approaches from the west catches up
   her athleticism matches mine as it never did
    and we gallop in unison toward the perimeter
     a glorious second of release before she barks 'She's behind us!'
   I glance back and see the bolt pointed,
  blank fac'd in relentless pursuit

ANTICLIMAX: I round the corner with my twin
and we stumble upon the blessed mundanity
  of a bus stop
    but I left
   my card
  in my coat
in the kitchen