Robert T. Jeschonek, Fiction Writer

The Wolf King

Lightning flared as James Callus Hoglatch raised the axe, preparing to bring it down on the hogtied victim at his feet. Hoglatch laughed, muscles rippling under his dragon tattoos, his heart pounding with pure joy…and then the lightning reached down and stroked the metal blade, jolting him with

Green leaves folding around
The midday sun,
Bleached white linens
Fluttering,
And the racing of violins
Of harpstrings
Bring the light of awareness
To the eyes of the

Suddenly, James Hoglatch finds himself in a filthy and unfamiliar land. All around him, men dressed in animal skins and rags swing weapons in battle, slicing and bashing each other with brutal force. Hoglatch grins and joins the fray, randomly gouging his axe into the throat of a hulking warrior with a horned helmet on his head. Screaming with pure joy as the kill drops to the rocky ground, Hoglatch leaps

Under this small burden,
Every child gave way
Like spokes in a rickety cartwheel
While the Florida sunshine created
New forms of life in the
Backyard,
Oozing,
Curdling,
Melting together
And dreaming of

Chief Hoglatch roars and shakes a drumstick at the pagan feast. Women cling to him, and tribesmen beat drums and sing the song they’ve written about his heroism. Hoglatch throws another prisoner on the fire and howls at the moon like a wolf king who has just eaten a man king.