| Subject: ...still dead... |
Author:
Benjamin Grimm
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Date Posted: 11:37:45 08/19/01 Sun
Author Host/IP: d56.as0.crtn.oh.voyager.net/216.196.37.121
the clock ticks, she breathes shallow breaths
and orange October leaves find their way to the
partially frozen soil. a lone dog barks and
whines outside the window; no one will shut it
up until morning comes or it gets loud enough to
wake someone. no cars drive past on midnight
crusades, not on that street. there is nothing to
see out here. no street lights, freak shows, or
fancy glittering stores to catch a person's
attention. it's not the city, but it isn't exactly
country, either. town? village? what does it
matter, really? NOTHING, says the monster in the
closet across the hall.
today is gone, tomorrow never comes, and yesterday
is not even worth thinking about. coffee smell
taints the air, children snore, parents argue now
because they think their kids are asleep and will
not know mommy and daddy are having problems. they
are wrong, so grievously wrong. their children are
not only awake, but they never truly sleep. they
never will, even when they are old and wrinkled. and
their children's children won't sleep, either... it's
a vicious cycle without a visible end. a perfect circle.
a mangled square. a distorted triangle. no one wants
to talk about it anyway. every one acts like the world
will never end, love will always be there and real,
the morning paper will always come on time and the
things sold "for a limited time" will always be
available, forever. never, never, never. land.
fly. gossamer wings of disappointments and slow
let downs, midnight nightmares which will eventually
come true in time, and the ice cream which fell to the
sidewalk, melting.
crawl. broken coffee cups, anger shattered window
panes, crunching egg shells around every word spoken
between parents and children and friends. smoke
from three o'clock in the morning cigarettes,
burning thick and thin fingertips alike. tendrils
wrapping about facades and visages and nostrils and
limp, unwashed hair. it never ends. the pack empties
but it never ends. never has, never will. not in this
place. town? village? what doe sit matter, really?
EVERYTHING, scream the trapped, abused children,
lonely lovers on their last penny, brown dogs chained
in vacant back yards forgotten, all-night gas station
clerks who have no true home, closet monsters crying from
disbelief, men who never lived their dreams, and a god
whose only enemy is his most valued creation. it's not
his fault no one believes, he tried.
the clock ticks, she breaths, leaves fall, a dog barks...
only one road leads out of town, but no one can seem
to find it... yet. maybe tomorrow.
www.suite101.com/mypage.cfm/salvation
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