Drabble #19 – Sully
The air around me congeals until I can feel it dripping down my
face, sweat and tears mixing and blurring. Blurring and burring
and stinging and singing of melancholy. There’s a silver
lining if you shut your eyes hard enough. A few notes float
through the brick walls and reach my ears. Midnight musicians,
they call them. It’s a saxophonist this time. They play
like it’s their story to tell, and it probably is. They
know the music and it knows them, knows the night and the
waning moon and my tears. I wonder if they can hear
me.
Drabble #9 - Flip a coin; make a wish –
Part 1
The word twisted is better defined by my car on that day than a
few lines in a dictionary. Coiled around the guardrail on
Interstate 94, it was lost somewhere between Bismarck and
Minneapolis, just beyond the North Dakota-Minnesota line. Go to
it and all you’d find now is scrapped asphalt and bent
metal, a dent in the endless line. When you’re sitting on
the side of the highway with a bleeding temple and sore
everything, you realize that the universe doesn’t care
about how much you paid for your 2010 Chevy Cobalt, or that you
still have college debts.