Sunday, July 5, 2015

896. Hard hands and wet feet

From the beach, the ship's journey across the horizon seemed to take forever.
It was laden down with salt from the mine around the cape.
At times, it seemed to hardly move at all.
From the beach, they could never know the ship waited for a helicopter searching for a murderer.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

895. Man, with bouquet

The man at the urinal held the flowers high, like an Olympic torch bearer.
He grasped them tightly in one fist, lending the other to the business at hand.
Maybe it's like Dan said - an offering. 
I'm not sure what he was praying for, but I hope it worked.

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

894. Dirty Thumbs

It's not like the good ol' days.
The fingerprints; it's the fucking fingerprints.
So beautifully damning, like smudgy little stool pigeons.
A perfect thumbprint in the chocolate sold him out to his mum and dad. 

Thursday, June 4, 2015

893. Data visualization

"Go to Italy," her dreams shouted at her.
Italy, Italy, Italy.
She started seeing it, hearing it everywhere she went.
Obsessively, she began to doodle it, until it covered her entire house - window, wall, and wood.

Saturday, May 30, 2015

892. Scuff

Over the sound of a podcast in my ears, I could hear the scuff of my runners on the concrete.
Then I heard the rustle of the leaves in the trees.
Then I heard the sound of the animals in their nighttime routines.
By the time I heard the scuff of the footsteps behind me, it was too late.

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

891. The shoes on our feet

They made everything you'd expect: runners, tennis shoes, cross trainers.
And sure, they made a little money on them.
But the most profitable of all, are the plain ol' shoes they make for the prison down the road.
Because someone has to.

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

890. Context is king

She was on the bus of the damned.
It was hurtling straight to hell, packed with the stuff of nightmares.
With her last breath, she wrote "help" in the steam on the window.
"What does 'P-L-E-H' mean?" passing motorists wondered.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

889. Bone Music

There were movies once.
I remember the sound the punches made.
That sound is in my mind often.
I think of it when they try to take what's mine.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

888. Fences

Do you think the person who built the stone fence over there imagined it would last forever?
I dunno.
I'm going to take a piece for my desk.
And maybe think about that for a bit.

Sunday, May 3, 2015

887. The Hollow Man

He built a legion of clay men.
Into them, he poured all the parts of himself he hated most.
Then, he visited on them the most vile means of destruction he could devise.
He barely even noticed himself fading away.