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Untitled Short Story
Why today? What is so urgent that I have to drive up here today? Couldn't she at least have waited until the storm let up? I hate driving in the rain. The black Volvo S60R sloshed through puddle after puddle as the mid-afternoon thunder continued overhead. It was April in north central New York, and spring was finally starting to approach. Aside from everything being wet outside, it also looked dead and dilapidated after the long winter. The trees had yet to replenish any leaves, limbs were down, the grass was a dull brown, and everything was muddy. The terrain was hilly with open fields and patches of forest, and seemed to stretch on forever with no signs of life except for the open road.
After another half hour of driving, a long driveway could be seen branching off the road ahead. Along the overly lengthy driveway, there was a huge cast iron gate with a small intercom box and a video camera. Great. She's now invested in a surveillance system. I pressed the h
may as well buy another packcollapse, and breathe into the carpet:
sunday mornings are not
for falling apart, but damn
the amphorics, this
is not an atmosphere.
you fell in love like you always
wish you didn't, made all their
smiles replaceable, interchangeable,
fell asleep with shadows and kept
drinking, just letting yourself sleep
with blue pills
and tried not to scream.
(keep this image in your head:
fire and nectarines, a sudden jerk
of realization, inspiration
breaking your neck and leaving you forever
breaking bones is not so different
from breaking hearts - it's all about
the leverage, the angle, the mode
(and at least it wasn't personal;
it can color in your own guilt
for starting lines and never ending
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