Notes: Poetry. Rather sick, if you ask me. Wrote it while stalking an aswang, loving Poe's "The Bells" and living in the middle of nowhere - good enough excuses.

P.S. Aswangs are witches in Filipino folklore. Most people wouldn't believe in them.

P.P.S. Worse poetry in my fictionpress account. That one reads like a fairytale.

The Uchiha Family Reunion Dinner

(in the court of hell)

"Come right in!" Madara shouts, bowing like a loon

He twirls and bows and flips his cape

And calls himself the moon

The real one's still hung from the sky

Glowing red, shining high

The house is dressed and all alight

The grounds and ponds burning bright

The guests all come in formalwear

All the ladies have –

dead flowers in their hair

Powder and rouge and manic grins

But for flamboyance, Shisui wins

He's got the wet look, really snazzy

However, on the whole,

he looks rather like a ghoul

"The party's going along swimmingly!"

He thrills, in a voice that sends chills

down your spine

Mikoto's not inclined to agree

There's a hole in her chest, in her heart, oh-dear-me

The blood down her thigh's a grisly raw color

And everyone knows there's not a worse party-downer

But this party – oh! This dinner! – she can't sit out

Considering who it's all about!

The music plays, caccia, a carnival theme

It rises and falls, and squishy soft like cream

Over and over, quick and obscene

Madara starts the dancin'

And then the screaming starts again

Whoop-dee-doo and ha-ha-ha

Dead kids ask: "isn't this the life? Kaa–"

Hee-hee-hee and har-de-har

"It's better than our silly war!"

"Have a balloon!" Madara calls "Fireworks too!"

"They won't hurt more than –

What's already been done to you!"

And they dance and dance and dance

See how they leap! See how they prance!

Until the chiming of the hour

When they stand to welcome

Their best! Their best guest of honor!

The music dies, the moons blanches white

Grass smells like burning

The floors start groaning

And everyone doesn't look quite right

Silk kimonos once so lofty

Now all ripped, threadbare, dusty

He looks at faces, almost forgotten

Then somebody laughs

"Why, Itachi – I do believe

You're still half-rotten!"

And then the screaming starts again

Fugaku claps him on the back (Glasgow grin, teeth all tan)

And he goes, "As expected of my son."

They push him down the very best seat

Serve him chunks and chunks of meat

Two chairs down, on an elder's head, someone's gnawing

And someone's whispered with a laugh –

"Least it's not the gro-innn."

On the other side a mother eats

With her infant's boney bits

Someone's swapping their bloody eyeballs

Some dip them in sticky honey – and gobbles

Obito does the best he can

But its hard to work with only one!

They all chug drinks – warm and sick-sweet –

Unaware they're spilling all over the carpet

(to wash, wash, wash

the ash, ash, ash

from the burning, burning, burning

of the fan)

And just when the nightmare ceases to grow

Madara starts the cannon blow

"Next time, Itachi, move a space,"

Never one to be so slow,

Shisui was quick to follow,

"We're still waiting for our last ace!"

Mikoto smiles "That chair there, you see…"

And everyone screams:

"For Sasuke!"

And the iron bells toll.