"Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet." Cyrus Farivar

Saturday, March 19, 2011


            He flinched as another car drove past. It had become a habit every time he heard an engine approach. Standing frozen for a moment, he could barely feel the cascade of frigid water collide with his chilled skin. Rain had been pouring for several hours, which had quickly drenched him. Numb and completely dazed, he let his feet lead him. His destination didn’t matter; it was just somewhere far away.
            Another car passed, this one sending a large wave in its wake. Observing the red lights as they disappeared around a corner, he kept walking. This road was familiar, a distant memory he couldn’t quite reach. The last time he’d been this way was thirteen years ago. Now, here he was searching for comfort in a town he had called home in a life he vacated after tragedy.
            Roaming up a grassy hill, he slipped a few times, mud adding to his already disheveled state. Pausing as the rain continued, he skimmed the stones. The grave markers were older, showing their age by the amount of moss each was caked in. Finally he spied the double-wide headstone; the only one that he wasn’t sure how he missed it upon first glance.
            Passing among the other plots, he paused at the one he recognized. Reaching out a tentative hand, he traced the names, his fingers easily slipping into the engraved letters. He missed them, even now that his old life was but distant memories.

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