The words from the poem mirrored the scene in front of him.
"Two roads diverged in a wood," he recited aloud.
"Which one should I take," he thought as he stood at the junction of the two paths in front of him leading down the dark forest.
He had come out for a walk to clear his head. He closed his eyes and took a step forward and another and another...
Half an hour later, he stood in front of a giant tree. He looked up into its branches and a large pile of snow fell on him. He grabbed...
Lost, without a hand to hold, I ran. I had no clue where I was going, but I knew from what I was running. The empty greyness of the city loomed over and surrounded me as I ran. I knew I was moving at some speed and yet I seemed not to be moving at all, enveloped as I was by miles of empty streets. I could see the sun setting and as the light dwindled, my heart began to pound harder and harder, faster and faster. The darkness dropped down onto me, covering the city in it's folds, like...
Until now, she'd never thought of herself as pretty.
Truth be told, until a year ago, she'd never thought of herself as all. The concept of self was one that she'd been struggling with for the past twelve months, and she was finally starting to get a grip on it.
The first step had been coming up with a name for herself. Her entire life, she'd been referred to as "that lot", or, at best, "the taller group". She'd been part of a team...a slightly taller team than the other teams, true, but a minor difference in height does not...
"What do you mean, you don't have any? C'mon, Billy, this is me! Don't hold out on me, OK?"
The party crashed and throbbed around her, the scowl on her face morphing into worry, almost into fear.
"Billy, what the hell's going on here? Nobody's got any!"
She listened for a moment.
"Oh, don't be an ass. OK, yes, I called some other guys before I called you. I'm not trying to cut you out of my business, you're my rock solid, the best source in town. You ALWAYS have some. I didn't want to bother you except as a...
I'm dead. Really dead. Not the "There'll be a twist in the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead.
I keep thinking back to how I died.
I don't remember how I died really. I think I fell.
Are you suppose to remember how you die? Or is that weird?
Is there some sort of weird rule of death that you can't remember how you die?
I feel like I can walk everywhere and find no one. Death is strangely lonely and empty. Am I the only one here?
I wish I could tell you what it...
My tiny, paper-thin dream floating on the darkness of my memories. That's all I could feel, all I could see, all I could hear, day in, day out. Taunting me. Tempting me.
If only I did. If only I didn't. I could be Somebody if I weren't so frightened of being Somebody.
Trapped in this limbo is a game for no man. The future is lovely and bright. It exposes me for what I am. The past is dream and lingering. It holds onto me with every tiny hook it owns, each day adding a new one.
To be free....
He had had that dream again. He had dreamed about that walk and the ice sculpture many times. But this was the first time, he had floated up above the forest.
"If I hadn't woken up, what would I have seen?" he wondered.
A month later, he had the same dream again. And this time, he floated above the forest and went higher and higher into the sky.
The earth below him shrunk and everything grew smaller until the forest was just a speck in the distance.
"George," he heard a voice calling. It was the same voice he had...
Groggy from the lack of sleep I got the previous night because of a runny nose and a running mind jumping from one work thought to the next, I walked into the office kitchen to grab some hot tea to soothe a sore throat. As I was about to pour some hot water from the water cooler, my colleague dispensed some water for herself.
"Getting some water?"
"Yeah," I said.
"I heard you were sick the other day. I hope you're feeling better," she said with sympathetic eyebrows.
"Uh, a little bit, thanks."
"I love water."
"That's good."
"I actually...
Maurice looked at the empty mailbox and sighed.
His pension was supposed to be delivered today; first of the month, just like always, but instead the inside of the cold metal tube held only a few bills and a postcard advertising the latest whatever that he didn't need. What he needed was his damn pension.
He took a deep breath and took several careful steps back up his driveway to his front door. He checked around the bushes, painfully walked the outer perimeter of the house, even checked the cat flap, but no pension.
Son of a bitch, those damn...
Leaving was the easiest decision to make, and the hardest action to take. The look in her eyes the stare. The stare told me to stay, but I must leave and find myself. The bags had been pack for near a week now and the train comes in the hour, but I can't just go. Her stare those eyes right to the soul "don't go" they exclaim.
I move to the door she embraces me and doesn't let go. I being to doubt myself this choice to go so easily thought up. "Stay" she mutter under the fall of tears....