Suffer The Little Children {A Poetic Short Story}

A mafia hitman is confronted by his past....

Walking through the house The Killer didn't make a sound,
cause creaky little noises would most surely take him down,
the object of this mission was to send a message clear,
don't lowball Don Mazzaro was the only message here.

The first bedroom he came across was that of young Kathleen,
the lawyer's 6-year old whose bedroom floor was not that clean,
The Killer loathed untidyness; it had him seeing red,
the silenced pistol hiccupped sending three shots to her head.

The rest went very similar; no noises meant no screams,
no kickbacks meant the lawyer and his wife would have no dreams,
just nightmares 'til a coffin pillow fluffed their little heads,
from waking up tomorrow finding all their children dead.

3 hours later....

Bonuses were good; it meant The Don was pleased indeed,
he only got a call whenever someone needs to bleed,
his function to Mazzaro was no easier than this,
he thought while the robotic vacuum droned and cleaned his crib.

The Killer felt no sympathy; no sorrow, no remorse,
with what he did as work for all these years; his only course,
was making all this money being good at what he did,
that's killing for The Don which meant his biz was snuffing kids.

Don Felice Mazzaro was no average mafia hood,
he took his fam to soaring heights no average mafia could,
with judges, cops and congressmen all taking weekly bribes,
his family stayed eatin; slicing up that easy pie.

For those that didn't give ol Don Mazzaro what he craved,
did not receive the usual descent into the grave,
he took it three steps further when it came to solvin his,
he'd send his silent killer off to murder all the kids.

He'd been at it so long The Killer didn't bat an eye,
when someone two or three or four years old just had to die,
the person this influenced almost always fell in line,
The Don had such connections that he never smelled of crime.

The Killer smiled while knowing he was with the winning team,
cause dollars made for ev'rything and even sinning seemed,
to not mean what it used to; yeah some children lost their lives,
as long as it payed handsomely he felt they all could die.

His house was finally cleaned of all the filth he thought was there,
The Killer see had O.C.D. and didn't always care,
if something that had just been cleaned would need a cleanse again,
The Killer knew that one day it would be the end of him.

'Til then he thought oh well and went about his nightly chore,
inspecting ev'rything the vacuum touched; and rightly for,
the comfort cleanliness would bring to ease his shattered mind,
it was while in the midst of this he heard the scattered cries.

No one knew of where he laid his head at; that was key,
in case Mazzaro one day had to send some cats to clean,
his brains from out his skull; he kept his profile very low,
the cries dissolved his thoughts; they went from high to very low.

The lights were all extinguished 'cept the bedroom light of course,
The Killer grabbed his gun and gripped it very tight of course,
then ventured to the living room; the cries were surely here,
he flicked the switch illuminating scores of dirty kids.

Their faces all were pale from lack of sun and small as well,
he saw they ranged from toddler age to one kid tall as hell,
who seemed to be the leader cause of how he stood up front,
The Killer cocked the hammer back and screamed out "WHA CHU WANT?!"

The big kid cracked an evil smile as he began to cuss,
"F**k what I may need I see you don't remember us!"
The Killer's wheels then start to spin while gears and motors clicked,
his jaw then dropped while staring out at all the murdered kids,

he took out in his years of being hit dude for the mob,
the kids looked on in earnest while The Killer drooled and sobbed,
"It wasn't me, your parents did this!" he spat and collapsed,
the big kid grabbed a smaller one like "Davey, snatch it back!"

The children started laughing while The Killer sat and zoomed,
in to complete destruction as the kids then blacked the room,
it seemed like dirt and parasites had come from ev'rywhere,
to muddy up the floors, the couch; The Killer's ev'ry hair.

What once was clean and so prestine was now a heated mess,
The Killer screamed like some kids had when he was bringing death,
that didn't stop them damaging his white and shiny home,
the screams then rose in pitch because you see his mind was gone.

The kids were going crazy as they trashed The Killer's home,
the big kid watched this silently; alone and in his zone,
The Killer's singing stopped and not because of lousy notes,
it ceased because he'd used his hands to just rip out his throat.

The Killer's heartbeat stopped that's when the children turned to see,
his body in convulsions as his neckline yearned to bleed,
and one by one they disappeared like that's enough to see,
the big kid crossed his heart while winking out; oh suffer ye.

©2014
The Cunning Linguist

Author's Note

My latest....