It hurt to try and open it.
So, I did what I’ve always done
and went to a pub to read a book.
Only this time, I was in the book.
The bar was full so I stood in the corner
and ordered a dark beer.
The noise from the many conversations
faded, as they always do when I read,
but when I touched the book it felt electric.
“Here I am,” I thought. “About to read my own story.”
But I couldn’t do it. I opened the book to page 62.
Hell, I even took a picture.
But I couldn’t read my short story.
I couldn’t even get beyond the second line.
I’m not sure why. I don’t know what happened.
I’ll most likely read all the others and never read mine.
Later – pushed thoughts will blister,
tips of trees will burn-
Come, stand on the edge and view this-
The sun was out, it was warm,
and the wind was alive-
pushing long stalks of corn
eastward toward the river.
I remember the smell,
and the sight of the dust following
my footsteps; having created a small
amount of life in my wake.
I smiled as I reached the riverbank.
I smiled as I sat on a large rock,
and I smiled as I opened my thoughts.
A family member shared delicate news.
I’m looking out my window,
watching the rain.
I hope the test is negative.
I pray the test is negative.
He’s a good man.
A strong thinker
with great faith.
I’ve always watched the rain.
I think I’ll sit here a little longer.
It’s a strange feeling,
in your mind.
Then you catch yourself
and you’re back again.
What is that.
Our own thoughts came around again. Funny how that happens. A floor holding an image of a mirror came back. Someone wanted something. Watch as the floor says nothing, having seen twice what was once, and then watch as the voice asks for more.
Sometimes we would twist our face
into a blue towel to see what was real.
Take a seat on today. Watch the birds.
Listen to their laughter. Be with them.
My short story, ‘The Stump Maker,’ word count his risen to 3,400!
There’s something about bringing a story to life that fills my soul full of positive fuel.
The submission word cap is 5,000..so I’ll be sliding this one to an end shorty…a heart pounding end I hope! It is a horror story after all ;P
I hope your day is treating you well.
Author of ‘Only. Just. Here.’ Which is published in America’s Emerging Horror Writers: East Region:
And author of the award winning short story, ‘Bodies in The Basement.’
Read for free here: https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/bodies-in-the-basement-awarded-publication-of-the-year-non-poetic-spillwords-press-nyc-2019/
Expressions adrift like wildfire,
spreading- unavailable ribbons of safety
ripped from the hands of the just and
given to the hounds of the hill