moemaster7
She was old. Her dog was old. Her house was old. Everything about the woman was just, old. Whenever we talked all I could do was stare at her cheeks, the way the hung from her cheekbones like, like, well they hung the only way old cheeks can! It gave me the willies.
I was falling. Down down down. It wasn't like in dreams where your heart skips but you wake up on the other side of the world. In your bed. Alive. I was going down. The frigid air stung my cheeks, and my tears flew upward as I went down. I screamed and wondered if anyone could hear.
He looks down on her. Pitiful. Grey. Dreary.
She's sleeping on the grass, curled up in a little ball. He dark hair falling over her lips. Her pants cover her legs and her arms are tucked under her head. The only part of her he can see is her eyelids. Dark and burned in the rising sun.
He wonders about walking away. Pitiful. Grey. Dreary.
There are two battles around me.
The one in my heart and the one in my country. The one in my country is easy. One man hates another, so we fight.
The war in my heart is dangerous. If the right people to not win there, I will die.
I ask myself who I want to win, and the scary part is, I do not know anymore.
There comes a point in your life where there is no more thinking. Everything comes to a head and you just have to jump. Who knows. You might fall on your face, maybe if you are blessed you'll end up on ht other side, but no matter what it will always be an adventure.
"I dare you," She said. I closed my eyes and jumped.
There was once a time when men wandered through the streets with their wives, musing through the various grocery stands as the children played at the park nearby. But now there is no musing. No child laughs at the park. The merry-go-round remains un-spun. The houses lie low and dormant, the children inside keeping quiet and still as they wait for their mothers to return home.
The mothers are gone for much of the day, working in the harsh factories, taking the place of the men. Some are at the hospital as nurses, aiding the men who are off at war. They sew and stitch and clean wounds and cut bandages. Always someone is needing bandages.
The man who stands over my shoulder
He is dressed in black
I trust he knows the way
As I watch his back
He leads me through the dessert
The road of dusty death
I know my adviser well
A cloaked and hollow chest
The thought continued to bump around in the back of my head. Like an annoying little brother to whom had been given one of those obnoxious foam fingers with #1 slapped on in cheap paint. I pushed it away, even shoved it down, but always it continued to surface.
I wonder where the term kick the bucket comes from. It always makes me think of an old man kicking a red bucket into the air. By the time it hits the grass he is already dead.
I wasn't looking forward to our class trip to the Shady Pines. Firstly, who calls a campground Shady Pines. Sounds like a place to get jumped. Secondly, who wants to got to a mosquito infested, sand covered dump with only a hole in the ground for a toilet. No thanks. I think I'd rather stay home. To bad for involved parenting.
As soon as my mother read the newsletter it was "Wont that be fun?Are you ready to go?I think I'll chaperone." She goes the whole nine yards.
load more entries