His rival was efficient. The lanky gunman knew that for a fact. More than efficient. He was calculated, precise, ready at a moments notice to simply vanish and escape without a trace. Per usual.
It was only the moment that he noticed the bloody footprint staining the wooden floorboards – the first and smallest hint of him having once been present – did he he wonder if the constant visits via stabs to the back was more than what it seemed on the surface.
And this is where you left us
Building up outside of the wire-screen door
Like the sand piles of ants
Ready to revel in the fire of Wednesday nights.
We came to bid you hello
But now it seems we bid you farewell
As we raise our glass of Jim Beam
and spit the remnants into your dusty footprints beside the garden,
Giving thanks for all you gave us.
Our cheers ring like engines in the wake of your embers,
Whose laughter shoots out like arrows drunkenly misplaced.
The motors hum softly in the distance
Serenading your eternal brigade.
Always a man, a machine, a menace to society.
Amen.
To My Godfather, Edward Eric Wondoloski, my other father, my otre’ pere’, my Other Guy. All is well, I know my friend, and I send you blessings and a peace sign to the midst of where you are, be that here or there, anywhere, I know you will always be laughing. Cheers, Squggs.
~Your Munchkin
My footprints in the sand gave away the fact that I had been there. I was afraid that the people following might trail me by my footprints. but there was no other way. I tried to walk near the water so that the waves could wash away my marks.
It never stays long, but that’s a lie right there.
It stays forever on my stomach and on my chest.
Dark and heavy- a contrast.
The tide does not wash it away.
The turning of the moon does not heal.
Time never matters.
she was walking through the woods and she spotted a footprint from a small bird that looked like it was lost for it’s prints went this way, and that way.
The footprint in the sand is a transient thing, one that, like ourselves will eventually succumb to the ravages of time like the footprint in the sand eventually falls to the sea.
The footprint that was left on the beach implored him to follow her. His footprints ended up beside hers in the sand, slightly to the right so he could see her beautiful face. And she was beautiful. Much more than his wife who had been letting herself go after giving birth to their first son. He hated that he noticed this girl’s beauty but not his wife’s.
The footprint followed her on the beach as she strode down it. The man’s echoed behind her, slightly to her right so he could see her expression as she gazed off into the sunset. He couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was, how different from his wife who had started to let herself go. He wanted this beautiful woman who left footprints but not herself in his path.
What sort of footprint will I leave? With no children and no plans to have children, how will I be remembered? Who will bother to remember me? And why do I even care?
Immortality lies in how one is remembered after death; at least that’s what the poets say.
i have a left a very large footprint in the sand as I casually stroll down the glistening sand. It is a spectacular day and I can smell the ocean mist wafting up from the shoreline. I feel peaceful as I wonder why my life is not all that I hoped for.
I’m not alone. I have the footprints. They’re right there, in the sand, can’t you fucking see? They’re right there, I’m not crazy, I swear they’re right there. I don’t want to be alone. They have to be there. They have to. I can’t be seeing things like some goddamn kook. I can’t. She wouldn’t let me go crazy. She’d be here. No, she wouldn’t, because she hates me now.
He could feel the warmth of the sun on her back; the sensation of his bare forearm resting on her shoulder, her fingers entwined in his. He could smell the aroma of her shampoo as he felt her long, blonde hair brushing against his face, tussled by the breeze. His eyes met hers, wordlessly, then traveled down her slender, tanned body to the sand at her feet.
It was only when he allowed himself to notice that she did not leave any footprints in the sand, that his illusion was shattered; his daydream betrayed by the failure of his imagination to create that tiny but essential detail; and he found himself alone again, on the beach where they had met all those years before.
The footprint left behind was not human. But it did not belong to a dog, or a cat, or a bear, or a horse, or even something remotely mammalian. Yet it was not a remainder of a bird’s trot, or a scrape of a frog’s webbed feet, or even the wriggle of an extinct dinosaur’s toe. I looked at it cautiously and did not know what to deduce from it.
The sandy beach held hundreds of footprints. With each stride I matched my own feet with the mysterious sand indentations. It was fun to hop from one to another, but then I came across a huge gaping hole. That was when I noticed it was not a human footprint, but a giant’s.
I walk, I feel, I run, I conceal. My footprints echo off the floors, they open doors, and I hope they make it to you. They carry me through the past and help me towards my future. Paving the way. Saving my memories.
The weren’t footprints. They were cougar tracks. My worst nightmare. I’d lived in the mountains for years but had never encountered a cougar. I’d heard of my neighbors having glimpes but now as I hiked thru the freshly fallen snow it was my turn.
eren’s laughter is drowned out by the crashing of the waves, and he runs further and further along the shore with his arms outstretched above him. levi doesn’t bother hiding the small, tired smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he follows the trails in the sand the boy has left.
levi’s eyes widen when he sees eren turn around and wave at him. “come on!” the boy shouts at him. “let’s keep going!”
Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared intensely at the rain-soaked ground. “Max, look.”
Max brushed his damp black hair back and crouched down beside her. “What? All I see is mud…”
“Look closer!” She whispered harshly, although it wasn’t necessary. Grabbing his wrist, she pushed him forward and they both ignored the tingle that spread throughout their bodies. “It’s faint, but it’s a footprint. Do you think it’s Mitchell’s?”
“Could be,” He murmured, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “We’ll get forensics out here now. Good eye, Holly.”
A blush crept on her cheeks, and she prayed he couldn’t see. “Thanks.”
The footprint was odd. Deeply imbedded in the wet ground it seemed so large that it was like a small lake filled with the rain from the night before. But where was it’s mate? I squatted down and peered under the bushes.
The footprint was set deep in the sand, half washed by the ocean water. I saw no companion print, which stirred my imagination. What person would leave behind one footprint? A vet injured in war?
They looked familiar. Yet, I couldn’t recognize the print of large feet sculpting fresh mud on my hiking trail. Hours later I heard on the radio news that a black bear was in the vicinity. I was the lone human camping out that day.
we leave a mark behind,
footprints we leave from the adventure taken, a little piece of us left behind
we’ll never look back, but our mark will always be there, following us.
Some worry about walking in a clean house and leaving footprints all over the clean floor. There’s a small impact there. Others worry about the footprint they leave on society or the world. Sometimes this is good, sometimes it’s not so much a big deal in the overall scheme of things.
My footprint was very obvious in the mud. They could follow me as easily as they’d like. I had to find dryer ground. I looked around in hopes of something to hang on to, to no avail. Oh well. I guess that’s just how it goes in this life.
The sand on the beach was wet enough to hold a shape – or in this case, many shapes. The footprints were all arranged in a line leading towards the ocean, all nearly perfectly made. If you were to follow them, you’d find a child splashing within the waves.
the sands on the beach were untouched, save for the tiny footprints of a crab that had skittered along the side before the wave break. There was no sign of humanity present. Just the ocean breeze and calm waves.
If you were to search within my brain, all you would see are the footprints you left behind when you walked away. You’d see how deep they were from your heavy footsteps. You’ve left your mark. But footprints don’t last forever. The wind will soon blow them away. Soon.
His rival was efficient. The lanky gunman knew that for a fact. More than efficient. He was calculated, precise, ready at a moments notice to simply vanish and escape without a trace. Per usual.
It was only the moment that he noticed the bloody footprint staining the wooden floorboards – the first and smallest hint of him having once been present – did he he wonder if the constant visits via stabs to the back was more than what it seemed on the surface.
Was what I should have seen when you left, but you disappeared instead.
And this is where you left us
Building up outside of the wire-screen door
Like the sand piles of ants
Ready to revel in the fire of Wednesday nights.
We came to bid you hello
But now it seems we bid you farewell
As we raise our glass of Jim Beam
and spit the remnants into your dusty footprints beside the garden,
Giving thanks for all you gave us.
Our cheers ring like engines in the wake of your embers,
Whose laughter shoots out like arrows drunkenly misplaced.
The motors hum softly in the distance
Serenading your eternal brigade.
Always a man, a machine, a menace to society.
Amen.
To My Godfather, Edward Eric Wondoloski, my other father, my otre’ pere’, my Other Guy. All is well, I know my friend, and I send you blessings and a peace sign to the midst of where you are, be that here or there, anywhere, I know you will always be laughing. Cheers, Squggs.
~Your Munchkin
In this haunting silence, the footprints of unspoken words were ghosts that followed her. She was voiceless, her tongue full but still and rotten.
My footprints in the sand gave away the fact that I had been there. I was afraid that the people following might trail me by my footprints. but there was no other way. I tried to walk near the water so that the waves could wash away my marks.
It never stays long, but that’s a lie right there.
It stays forever on my stomach and on my chest.
Dark and heavy- a contrast.
The tide does not wash it away.
The turning of the moon does not heal.
Time never matters.
the beachhouse,
our footprints
swallowing whales
not memories
It left a footprint of red. That’s all.
I knew they were gone.
And I knew I was alive.
And I knew I’d always remember the piercing black eyes that killed them.
she was walking through the woods and she spotted a footprint from a small bird that looked like it was lost for it’s prints went this way, and that way.
The footprint in the sand is a transient thing, one that, like ourselves will eventually succumb to the ravages of time like the footprint in the sand eventually falls to the sea.
The footprint that was left on the beach implored him to follow her. His footprints ended up beside hers in the sand, slightly to the right so he could see her beautiful face. And she was beautiful. Much more than his wife who had been letting herself go after giving birth to their first son. He hated that he noticed this girl’s beauty but not his wife’s.
The footprint followed her on the beach as she strode down it. The man’s echoed behind her, slightly to her right so he could see her expression as she gazed off into the sunset. He couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was, how different from his wife who had started to let herself go. He wanted this beautiful woman who left footprints but not herself in his path.
What sort of footprint will I leave? With no children and no plans to have children, how will I be remembered? Who will bother to remember me? And why do I even care?
Immortality lies in how one is remembered after death; at least that’s what the poets say.
i have a left a very large footprint in the sand as I casually stroll down the glistening sand. It is a spectacular day and I can smell the ocean mist wafting up from the shoreline. I feel peaceful as I wonder why my life is not all that I hoped for.
the heavy steps of the towering behemoth left footprints that could be compared to the size of small ponds
I’m not alone. I have the footprints. They’re right there, in the sand, can’t you fucking see? They’re right there, I’m not crazy, I swear they’re right there. I don’t want to be alone. They have to be there. They have to. I can’t be seeing things like some goddamn kook. I can’t. She wouldn’t let me go crazy. She’d be here. No, she wouldn’t, because she hates me now.
He could feel the warmth of the sun on her back; the sensation of his bare forearm resting on her shoulder, her fingers entwined in his. He could smell the aroma of her shampoo as he felt her long, blonde hair brushing against his face, tussled by the breeze. His eyes met hers, wordlessly, then traveled down her slender, tanned body to the sand at her feet.
It was only when he allowed himself to notice that she did not leave any footprints in the sand, that his illusion was shattered; his daydream betrayed by the failure of his imagination to create that tiny but essential detail; and he found himself alone again, on the beach where they had met all those years before.
The footprint left behind was not human. But it did not belong to a dog, or a cat, or a bear, or a horse, or even something remotely mammalian. Yet it was not a remainder of a bird’s trot, or a scrape of a frog’s webbed feet, or even the wriggle of an extinct dinosaur’s toe. I looked at it cautiously and did not know what to deduce from it.
The sandy beach held hundreds of footprints. With each stride I matched my own feet with the mysterious sand indentations. It was fun to hop from one to another, but then I came across a huge gaping hole. That was when I noticed it was not a human footprint, but a giant’s.
I walk, I feel, I run, I conceal. My footprints echo off the floors, they open doors, and I hope they make it to you. They carry me through the past and help me towards my future. Paving the way. Saving my memories.
The weren’t footprints. They were cougar tracks. My worst nightmare. I’d lived in the mountains for years but had never encountered a cougar. I’d heard of my neighbors having glimpes but now as I hiked thru the freshly fallen snow it was my turn.
eren’s laughter is drowned out by the crashing of the waves, and he runs further and further along the shore with his arms outstretched above him. levi doesn’t bother hiding the small, tired smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he follows the trails in the sand the boy has left.
levi’s eyes widen when he sees eren turn around and wave at him. “come on!” the boy shouts at him. “let’s keep going!”
Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared intensely at the rain-soaked ground. “Max, look.”
Max brushed his damp black hair back and crouched down beside her. “What? All I see is mud…”
“Look closer!” She whispered harshly, although it wasn’t necessary. Grabbing his wrist, she pushed him forward and they both ignored the tingle that spread throughout their bodies. “It’s faint, but it’s a footprint. Do you think it’s Mitchell’s?”
“Could be,” He murmured, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “We’ll get forensics out here now. Good eye, Holly.”
A blush crept on her cheeks, and she prayed he couldn’t see. “Thanks.”
The ground was coated in snow; footprints scattered everywhere. The snow seemed so fragile, disturbed by the protruding footprints above it.
The footprint was odd. Deeply imbedded in the wet ground it seemed so large that it was like a small lake filled with the rain from the night before. But where was it’s mate? I squatted down and peered under the bushes.
She glanced over at him uncertainly.
“You believe me now,” she spoke, “don’t you?”
His eyes flit over to the set of footprints.
“Yeah,” he replied, slightly breathless. “But what now?”
The footprint was set deep in the sand, half washed by the ocean water. I saw no companion print, which stirred my imagination. What person would leave behind one footprint? A vet injured in war?
They looked familiar. Yet, I couldn’t recognize the print of large feet sculpting fresh mud on my hiking trail. Hours later I heard on the radio news that a black bear was in the vicinity. I was the lone human camping out that day.
I saw a footprint in the sand. It makes me think of a long lost love of mine and days-gone by.
we leave a mark behind,
footprints we leave from the adventure taken, a little piece of us left behind
we’ll never look back, but our mark will always be there, following us.
Some worry about walking in a clean house and leaving footprints all over the clean floor. There’s a small impact there. Others worry about the footprint they leave on society or the world. Sometimes this is good, sometimes it’s not so much a big deal in the overall scheme of things.
footprints in the sand
distinctively yours
right beside mine
love prints
four feet
20 toes
to be washed away with the tide
side by side
My footprint was very obvious in the mud. They could follow me as easily as they’d like. I had to find dryer ground. I looked around in hopes of something to hang on to, to no avail. Oh well. I guess that’s just how it goes in this life.
What is a footprint?
Is it something you see,
is it something your feel?
Is it physical?
It’s anything.
Footprint on his heart,
ecological footprint,
the steps you make on your front porch.
A footprint isn’t just something your shoes make,
your heart makes it too.
The sand on the beach was wet enough to hold a shape – or in this case, many shapes. The footprints were all arranged in a line leading towards the ocean, all nearly perfectly made. If you were to follow them, you’d find a child splashing within the waves.
the sands on the beach were untouched, save for the tiny footprints of a crab that had skittered along the side before the wave break. There was no sign of humanity present. Just the ocean breeze and calm waves.
As she walked the beach, and each footprint she made in the sand was gently washed away by the incoming waves as if she were never there.
If you were to search within my brain, all you would see are the footprints you left behind when you walked away. You’d see how deep they were from your heavy footsteps. You’ve left your mark. But footprints don’t last forever. The wind will soon blow them away. Soon.
what kind of reply?
feet as your walking down a beach with your feet in the sand and a distant imprint left behind as you continue your way.