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
Lay us near the side of our brook. We’ll listen and observe a thing burn inside, like we did. Turn again in the mud, smell the ferns, wash the ‘self’, and watch as soul sinks in. Man in a white coat wants to ask how, doesn’t matter much. He’ll be here, or not, again. Seems to us a brook is a fine place to be. It’s always about something. So we see, and we do what there is to do about the seeing until, finality.