Jason Stone was a hardened
ex special forces in charge of
a batch of four mercenaries
That were deployed in secrecy
to the deep jungle of south
America.
little did he know what was
about to happen to them.

Black combats hugged his legs
and a commando vest matched
the shadowed jungle patchwork

his pink gums peeled back chewing
on a cherry lit cuban cigar, too ignorant
to stop his habit and put it out now
The grim reaper had been knocking

so he might as well enjoy one last
smoke, as tough as he was, this
transparent malignant spirit had
kicked
that out of him, he was terrified,
scared. This was its playground.

Its cross hairs were now marking
Jason, They had splashed him
in neon crimson, drowning in
it's infrared vision.

So he rushed for cover, horror
struck, all his training buried, he flung
himself into a chilling surging river

His back sucked to a tree a thin
layer of sweat covered his thick
neck.
waiting for the predator that took
and stripped his comrades to a
hanging sea of Weightless corpses
and falling jaw bones

Time for payback his eyes slit
like sharp hunting knives, ears
listening
to the haunted night.

flanked without knowing, two
dots of glaring beams, spearing
down from the sky scraping
canopy.

Mandibles clicking like
an exotic animal it's unholy
sockets, setting it's sites on
overlooking Jason's cold sweat

skeleton, a vocal mimicry
playing back a dead friend
sending chills up his spine
sending feces from his behind
feeding on his fear

Then chopping his cigar with
a sizzling detonating spark
illuminating more of his
ghost mask, even though
He was black african it was
Knocked out of him to a cream
sheet, his eyes wide

Terrified, his granite jaw
flew open, like a trap door
his trained mind made a

Quick decision. Rolling from
the intrusion, the invasion of
Cutting hot lazers.

his index finger hugging the trigger
pummelling rounds, M16 illuminating
smoking and lightening up the jungle
pushing back the creeping
darkness

shredding, eating holes into barks
and punching the trees in hot bullets
waking up thickets with brilliance

Blurring through the trees his boots
trampling on vegetation and his hands
ripping strangling leaves blindly.

His lungs burning gasping trying
to escape
but that didn't matter, as a singed

Smoking crater ate through his red skull
and cooked out the front, he was finished,
he would be strung up swinging.

Skinless, with the others from elevated
branches, blood dripping slowly losing
its volume or his spinal cord ripped out
Covered in red with the skull still attached