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, were the plain white shoes they made for the prison down the road.
Because someone had 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.