Low and tight, I grab at tree roots. My simple gravel path trimmed to a knife’s edge. My eyes caught a climb away from vertigo inspiring view. A stomach in knots, joins other spreading pains like gingham pattern.
I grab a branch to rise, only to receive a pine scented water spray when it slips slowly away.
“There’s a funny stone over here!” Derrick yells across Meadowhaven Gardens.
Julia grimaces his direction. She keeps thumbing through the guidebook. “What’s the point of reading about these people? You are jumping from place to place. These are real stories of what happened to these people. It’s so cool to think…”
“Hey, you got to see this one!” Derrick grows louder as if to wake the dead.
“Coming!” Julia finds row 15 in the book. “What’s the last name? …. Never mind I found it. Reginald Foster. He had heart attack while eating on Pier 9. His last words immortalized as ‘They were French fries!'”
My hand skims the turbulent surface of Lake August. The electric motor whines as the minutes slide from the clock. My heart races. My cargo needs hiding. Daylight doesn’t creeps in to my view, revealing a tiny shed in a rugged lawn.
Who knew too much lust and a pillow could end this way.
“I was a model for God’s sake!” She sneers at heart pathetic staff. “How could you let me go out wearing this? It says ‘I don’t care Do U?’ people will think I am a monster!”
The first lady throws the coat against the wall.
No one speaks. The eyes are locked on the floor it’ll be a long flight back.
She stands arms on hoops waiting for one of them to come tell her it’ll be alright. They don’t.
She reaches a glass of water. Her throat dry freedom the outside air.
Slowly the water freezes dripping ice over the side.
“No one say a word” whispers a staffer
This week’s photo prompt is provided by Enisa. Thank you Enisa!
Credit: Candice of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie
12. Thewless – Adjective. thewless (not comparable) (obsolete) Lacking morals or virtue. Lacking vigour or energy; listless; weak; nerveless
I’m postponing the next corresponding move. She knows I’ll make a deasil path. There’s are finite ways to revolve within her drab ginger world. Best to approach thewlessly, any signs of envy must be counterweighted by contempt. Her personality pressurize the simplest thingsn like saying ‘hello’
I pass the old black tower alone. The late Sun rays tell my presences. My shot at passing without being called upon seems to fade. I fiddle eighth my hands. Thoughts of becoming a treat for the legendary dragon named Honey harms my spirits.