The floor tasted like salt and whiskey as I lay next to you,
one last time and cried for what we had been. I only hope you are now free from what haunted
you.
What a tragic tale! My heart ached for them both. Only a minor thing, but the comma placement in the first line threw me a little, I think it may have needed a mate after "time".
Mr. Coleman’s spring cart was stuck in the sand just outside a small town deep in the Nabian desert. He came to strike it rich in African diamonds, but by fall the town would be gone. The gold rush had moved to the coast. * This is my first ever attempt at Microprose, so feedback is especially appreciated*
“Does each move really have a meaning?” “Yes, my dear.” “What’s the significance of that hip movement?" Her dark eyes laughed even as she shook her head in disapproval. “Silly daughter, you will understand soon. But now you do not need to know, you just need to learn. Now, again. Step, hip, step, hip, step, around. Yes, good. Don’t forget your hands.” I followed her in a poor imitation. My mother was teaching me the Tanoura. She gracefully moved from step to step in a circle around me, hips shimmying and feet stomping out a beat. Her dress swirled around her like a sandstorm. I had come into my womanhood and tonight we would go into the desert and celebrate with all the women of my family. I would dance for the first time and become part of our tribe’s sisterhood. Step, hip, step, hip, step, around. Don’t forget my hands. Step, heel, step, around, hip, hip, hip. Again, and again until my legs shook with exhaustion, and sweat d...
There was only one set of headlights traveling down the highway toward the remains of San Francisco on the morning that marked ten years since the end of the world. To celebrate this day of memorial all three radio stations left in California decided the appropriate course of action was to unironically play R.E.M’s “It’s the End of the World” on repeat, for 24 hours. Sasha was into it for the first few hours, but after singing her heart out about the fall of New York City, the flooding of New Orleans, the bombing of DC and the rise of Alaska she was starting to feel a bit depressed. As Sasha dug through the hundreds of loose CD’s in her front seat for something a little more upbeat she heard the tell-tale “thump-thump” of running over something. Moments later the cloying smell of skunk filled her car. Half choking Sasha unrolled her window and desperately grabbed for “The Yellow Book: Guide to Safe Travels in a New World” that resided in h...
Painfully put!
ReplyDeleteThere is so much pain and heartbreak in this one. I love the contrast between salt and whiskey.
ReplyDeleteWhat a tragic tale! My heart ached for them both. Only a minor thing, but the comma placement in the first line threw me a little, I think it may have needed a mate after "time".
ReplyDeleteThe imagery and the words compliment each other . The story is so painful.
ReplyDeleteThis is a sad story, well written. The photo you chose suits it perfectly.
ReplyDeleteSo sad, yet beautifully written.
ReplyDeleteVery poignant, the words. And the image is a great pick...
ReplyDelete