The tall man gathers his coats and turns from the scene he’ll never escape. The thin trees flicker blue and red and the warm smell of asphalt burns his nose. The wind rattles his aching knees and as it drags along his bare neck, it summons bumps in his skin. He strides forward, depicting this very image, these very sensations, as a nightmare he’ll soon wake from. He thinks of his small daughter and beautiful wife and wishes very much to be with them now, more than ever before. He checks his watch and hurries forward, knocking over an older woman in the private movement. She cries out in fright and takes the hand he offers her. As she stands slowly and tears of trauma trace paths down both her cheeks, she blesses the tall man. He nods, awkward and sad, and continues on.
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i use my vocal chords in a morally corrupt manner because most things don't make sense; therefore i'm a glaze-eyed dreamer incessantly imagining the life of my next door neighbour. i live a big life in a small town. i sh... Read Bio