He stood there a clear body. His dirty Sahara desert hair hung low and pitifully over his eyes. What could be seen of his eyes were a dark gray cloud floating lazily over a barren sun, sinking deep into the horizon, a horizon that had no end only beginning a deep pit that would lose a soul forever. The eyes were always drawn down in shame, pity, mercy or forgiveness. His small lips drawn in, slightly biting his lower lip, a small whimper escaping his mouth. He was scared and destroyed. […]
He stood there a clear body. His dirty Sahara desert hair hung low and pitifully over his eyes. What could be seen of his eyes were a dark gray cloud floating lazily over a barren sun, sinking deep into the horizon, a horizon that had no end only beginning a deep pit that would lose a soul forever. The eyes were always drawn down in shame, pity, mercy or forgiveness. His small lips drawn in, slightly biting his lower lip, a small whimper escaping his mouth. He was scared and destroyed. All color drained away from his face, an empty sea. He stood about 5’8′. A ragged brown vest covered his plain white shirt, a bloodstain covering it which would never go away. In his hands he held his life. In his right hand he held a briefcase, dirty and blood covered, it held term papers essays and medical papers which would soon see him off of a medical place of work. In his left hand held a small black box, barely visible for it was the last thing to him. The box held all his heart and money, a diamond ring to propose to his girlfriend that night whom he’ll never see again. He’s pants sagged slightly and weighed heavy from months of pushing himself off to a degree in Medicine. His shoes came in slightly the dirty Nike’s which will never move again. He Flickered wavered and a small ghostly tear slid down his cheek and disappeared into mist. A small whisper escapes his dry lips “I’m sorry”. The room went dark and a small white aura filled the room and soon he is gone. “Charles Green was brutally shot after a muggers attempts went sour. He was ready to propose to his girlfriend Sara. Police are investigating” Sara’s hair flew in the wind past her face slightly brushing against the grave. Her tears streamed down her cheek like a dying river. In her hands she held three white roses bounded together by the ring. She quietly sat down at the edge of the grave and lied the flowers down at the grave. She whispered silently “I forgive you” the wind picked up her words and whisked them up and to Green who was watching above her.
Circa 1999
About…
It was 7th grade English, and Ms. Stewart, our teacher, asked us to write a short story about a memory. True to form, I procrastinated doing the assignment until right before, during lunch. I remember treating the assignment with such indifference. I was going to write this story while I ate my cardboard pizza and tried to make coke come out of my friends noses. I ended up finishing the story right as the bell rang and felt an unexpected sense of pride.
When class rolled around I felt butterflies in anticipation of being called on to read my story in front of the class. I remember listening to my fellow classmates story, I remember enjoying their stories, but I also remember feeling like what I had was better. When it was my turn I stood up and gave a shaky performance that left me feeling exhausted but exhilarated. Afterwards Ms Stewart pulled me aside and told me that my story made her cry. She told me I had a gift for words and that I should persue that.
I’m so glad that I took her advice to heart. It’s been the most fulfilling journey (that is far from over).
Every Breath Poetic 