Cane sat a while at his mahogany desk. His left hand pulled at the bridge of his nose, stretching the skin into a vibrant pink hue. His right hand was thumbing the corner of his yellow legal pad. The pages passed so quickly from the zenith of his thumb to the rocky bottom of the blank yellow pages, that they blurred in a speedy brush stroke. Although he willed it so, Jerry could not fix his mind upon any subject specific enough to satisfy his quivering pin. Tracing the same scribble he had for the previous ten minutes he willed the words out, his brow turning an increasingly darker shade of pink.
To will the pen upon an end,
Create a world with just your hand
To mask outlined reality
And splash a watercolor soft imagination
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This story is not about me. I am just waiting. Not like Jona was waiting, but in my own way. Jona waited in the belly of the dark cavernous alleyway. Fire escapes climbed, bone like, up the sides of the adjacent buildings, and trash dumpsters floated stagnantly, like dead fish, waiting to be gutted. Jona’s hands were sweaty inside his jacket pockets. Rubbing his four fingers with hi thumb, he had rubbed the pads raw. A loud bark sounded at the back of the alley. Tony and Cobain sauntered out of the disapaiting steam seeping from the sewer drains, breathing under the sculpted dumpster.
Tony pierced Jona with a charcoal pupil, “So have you got it?”
Jona’s lips quivered and his fingers twitched in heartbeat, metronome clicks, “well… half.”
“All I ask of you is if you had it. You said you did- you don’t. I wash my hands of you.” Tony turned on the ball of his Armani tux shoes and paced away with Cobain at hi side. Cobain’s hips sauntered with an arrogant pop in each step. They both disappeared into the fog and Jona stood with his arms outstretched and forgotten as they began to quiver.
1 comment:
You updated! Woohoo!
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