The Yellow Pajamas

Big Jim kept on hand on the wheel of the company big rig while he popped the cap off of his stash of Provigil. Putting the bottle to his lips, upended a couple into his mouth and washed them down with cold coffee. He hated taking the stuff but he was beginning to see the yellow pajamas again.

A row of tall trees shaped like cigars broke up the scenery ahead of him. Around them, as if in worship, were smaller bare trees with thin naked limbs. Except for one. One clutched some small bit of cloth and wind that did not touch his truck made it wave at him. Taunted him. He tried not to look at it but some odd reflection off the side of the truck gave him a clear view out of the corner of his eye.

Torn, yellow pajamas.

The bulky trucker looked around nervously and tried to stop his hands from trembling. The horizon was dark except for a dusting of stars. There were no towns near this stretch of highway, nor stand alone farms, or buildings of any kind, just empty fields for miles.

Empty fields and yellow pajamas.

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