Monday, October 6, 2014

From The Room



From The Bed

“We still stand little man”.

His eyes caress the high walls. Looking for some weakness. Anything. He sees nothing. Only solid stone. And dust. Dust on everything. A slight breeze and it blows around and settles again. He turns from the window, looking to the plaster ceiling. It’s cracked and peeling in the corner. He looks to the table. His watch, a pack of smokes, a matchbook from the cafĂ© across the street, several empty wine bottles and that hateful ring; shiny and mocking.

“No.” The cold word hangs in the air days later. The skin still feeling the brush of a last kiss.

” I would break those walls for you. Those impossible walls will fall. If you would just be
mine!“ He remembered gesturing over the city, pleading.

He looks back to the window. His eyes closing as he settles into the air vibrating with the laughter of dusty walls.

150 words

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