Fiction: “Literature in the form of prose, especially short stories and novels, that describes imaginary events and people.” Some of these pieces are inspired by real events and some are just a figment of my imagination.
I roll my thoughts like Sisyphus, punished for my hubris, yet not absurd enough to find meaning in it. I said I would wait for you forever, though I did not expect to have to mean it. I no longer trust the clocks. I found the calendar to be a liar. Shattered schedules have seduced […]
He was pulled off on the side of the road to tie the tarp back down in the bed of his truck when the phone rang. He locked eyes with her photo on the screen. Eyes that brought him so much joy now looked back at him with judgement in every pixel. The picture spoke
They say pressure creates diamonds, but is that kind of clarity worth the pain? I was so sure of who I was once. I went out into the world with no other plan than to live in it. I failed fast, rolled with the punches, and punched back. Through each turn of the screw, each
He listened to Elvis sing about the cold rain on his drive through Kentucky. Unlike the song, he was running, not searching, as red and yellow leaves fell from the trees. He was leaving a ghost that couldn’t be kept; a ghost he only knew through machines. Crystal clear to one is clear as mud
I’m scared to speak because I need this peace, freshly captured once more, even if it’s false. I could scarcely cope with more scrupulosity today, or tomorrow. Three days turn to five and two weeks turn to six. “I can’t get you out of my mind,” I first said so early on, yeilded with such
For a brief time you were the sun to me. Everything that you did, and all that you were, and all that I knew we could be, lit up my dark skies. The time that passed in silence gave me a chance to grow cold over the memories of us. There is no more warmth
I’m numbed by the days,Trying to make othersUnderstand; explainingMyself months over months. I’m tired of the anger.I’m tired of the worry..I’m tired of planning.I’m tired of thinking. I’ve become a secret;A promise in the dark.Obedient, yet still found out.Patience brought me here. I’ve got nothing left.I’ve lost all cares.I’ve hit the wall ofLearned helplessness. I
I rise to the sun, singingThe song of her heartThat still holds my hand. A hand held outsideOf time and space,In our own world. A melody born with the stars,New, but still so familiar. A promise made to me beforeThe first blade of grass was given.Before the moon was in the sky andThe waters separated
Rain falls like time.Cold, stinging,Biting into bonePlanting its flag. Time can healAnd yet,Time can also ruinWhat’s been built. Rain gives growthAnd yet,Rain can also washAway somethingOnce so full of life. Memories like lightningStrike trees of emotionFears like thunderEcho through imagination. What kind of terror is this?What kind of power?How do two standThe test of one
Step Out of the Rain Read More »
I’m tired of the voices outside my head;Caught between contradiction of tongues;Receiving what’s not been asked for,from those who I wouldn’t dare imitate. How much blood must be spilt on the pagefor their satisfaction? How many mapped-out plans, and goals stated, so intricatelyarticulated, will stop them from one more,“Yes, but have you thought of…?” I
