The stove was cold and fast food boxes lined the counters. Waiting for word, waiting for some sign of life, all Alice could do was sit, stare and anticipate the ringing of the phone that always sat silent. Her stomach dropped when she realize the hour. The sun had set and she had not moved out of that chair for almost the entire day. The black bile of nothingness consumed her.
From Flash Flooding
I wondered of whom I should speak. The person who worked in a government building or made the evening meal? Should I describe the newly wed who just moved into the home where she planned to grow old; the hopeful…. I grew exhausted, as my words were never clear enough. “That’s not an emotion,” he barked. “No, go deeper,” he demanded. We discussed my tendency to lie; my desire to feel intelligent. The shock in me when others felt I was less significant, my need to control all.
State, from the angler
2 Comments
reads like a bottle of nyquil after four (4) cosmopolitans.
Her stomach dropped when she realize the hour. slitz o’clock here.
I’m sorry, my very first girlfriend, pregnant with someone else’s child, was named Cynthia. I’m sure she has married since then and I would have no way to know her new name, and for all I know, Cynthia Burke could be her and it could be me she is writing about. So it is best not to comment on anyone named Cynthia.
I will continue the search for my Cynthia using Google, but there are millions of pages I must visit. When I’m certain Mrs. Burke isn’t her, I’ll provide an objective opinion. Right now, it is possible anything I say could be blinded by love. Oh Cynthia, oh Cynthia…