Fallen branchesA Story by KromaWe all get a little too boring once in awhile.The sun like a friend I never wanted peered through the shades as if it was checking for life. The gloss of my eyes seared as if the light was lasers. The air still, and not yet aroused with the daily circles we walk sat motionless much like myself on the couch. My mouth like cardboard I groan like I'm double my age, as I roll off to find the floor with my feet. As I stare at myself in the mirror my reflection cackles and mocks me. I still taste last night on my breath. I thrust my fist threw the glass..breaking myself again as I grab him by the throat. Heavy as he is I drag him threw the dying room, and outside. Oh how its such a dangerous business walking threw that door. He kicks and claws the ground.. Fighting for life. Not like the life I live, but like the Blissful fiery life we all hope for. I sow this fate for him. I am the reaper. He is the creator. I hoist him into the vehicle ready to travel the same path to work. Just like yesterday. As I'm about to close the car door I feel a sharp point stab into my back. I turn to see three children, and begin to laugh. They carry sticks from dead trees, but the sticks are as sharp as their bravery. They did not see fear. I failed to acknowledge them and turned to escort my prisoner to that same old place. Then I felt the pain. Their imaginary swords cut my heels, and I fell. I fought to stand, but my disbelief had already killed me. The children held hands, and cried happy warm tears as they stabbed their branches into me. My vision blurred as my body laid still. The blood pooled around me. Slain by the goodness of children, or more realistically slain by my own doubt. I reawaken starring in the mirror. His eyes follow mine now. When I wave so does he, and as he laughs so do I.
© 2016 KromaAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on July 25, 2016 Last Updated on July 26, 2016 Tags: Life, doubt, alcohol, creative, imagination |