The sunlight dims, and the vagabond winds breathe calm over him. He sits alone listening to the leaves whisper and sips from a cold glass of beer, all the time thinking of his sister.
A flash of memory. Her smile. The picture on the mantle. Just shy a year, and already she’s not as clear as he always thought she’d be. A blue glow that stretches from over the outlying mountains gives way to the clear night’s sky. He stands overwhelmed in the now still air, glad to know he’ll always have pictures of Suzanne.
September 20, 2011
September 16, 2011
blowback
He awoke amidst rubble and settling dust. Skin ripped. Body bruised.
If only he could focus his eyes he would find his father just feet away
with a shattered skull seeping a dark mess onto the dirt. He'd never see his mother again. She lay already buried in a building
collapsed from the strike. It was
their home.
The boy pushed himself from the ground and looked up. The attack came from the sky. He struggled to focus his eyes, but
could not. He could only spit out
one word, over and over again.
"America."
September 11, 2011
No Toast for Charlie
Agitated with hunger, Charlie threw the first stone. He couldn’t see where it hit, but knew the damage was done. Another flew overhead, then another, and without regard the sea of people bent as a wave of violence.
But blood on the street would not rise another loaf of bread. If only the workers on the “grub truck” hadn’t been disturbed by so many desperate eyes. When they kept driving, Charlie knew that’d be it. No more bread. Nothing. Because when it came to throwing stones, their leaders knew to throw the last. Always.
But blood on the street would not rise another loaf of bread. If only the workers on the “grub truck” hadn’t been disturbed by so many desperate eyes. When they kept driving, Charlie knew that’d be it. No more bread. Nothing. Because when it came to throwing stones, their leaders knew to throw the last. Always.
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