clouds, my hands. running down the middle of the street w/ no cars, only a gang of teenage boys chasing me. some of them had rocks. i was not a good runner. there was sweat on my forehead pouring into my eyes. i remember the hammer. the claw end of thor. everything quickly settled down. the husk of a shelled insect. you can smell them hiding inside the walls. clouds like mountain ranges. i started on a long path up into the foothills. my hands clamoring over the coarse rocks were bloody. the bicycle tire circling its own zero.
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AuthorI write short stories. This is my blog. I'm going to write whatever. Archives
October 2014
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