Excerpts From Stories Untold.
It’s gentle and coarse underneath me. I watch as the clumps in my fists stream down and dissipate into perfectly smooth contours of the earth. The breeze whispers at my bare shoulders in cool contrast to the warm air that surrounds me. The sun finds refuge behind the horizon of the sea’s end suddenly claustrophobic from the moon’s takeover of the sky.
And I wonder how I can convince myself to hate where I am. In the status of my life I hate what I am; A slave to the hungry. To those who refuse to differentiate between separate suffixes. Servers and servants are all the same.
I open my eyes in irritation. Hot droplets of attempted consolation beat at my skin. I’m sitting on the shower floor disappointed that my thoughts have ended at the place I’d tried to avoid.
And I wonder how I can convince myself to hate where I am. In the status of my life I hate what I am; A slave to the hungry. To those who refuse to differentiate between separate suffixes. Servers and servants are all the same.
I open my eyes in irritation. Hot droplets of attempted consolation beat at my skin. I’m sitting on the shower floor disappointed that my thoughts have ended at the place I’d tried to avoid.