Tuesday, 3 December 2013

Terse Verse

He woke in his cell. Life finally dripping to an end. The window allowed grey light to creep in. But wouldn't let it out again. Man and ash trying to seize the day but no-one else was alive to join in. He opened the pine lid. Silence behind doors lining the corridor. A bannister splitting the gloom. He padded down the stairs to where the green door waited for someone to dare and open it. He didn't have the nerve. Veered off into the remains or beginnings of a kitchen where an old railway clock ticked like a moon measuring out the time that was left. Steam lifted from the spout and he read this sign like a tracker notes a cloven depression in black mud.

4 comments:

  1. The falling, the falling, the sense of a not-so-tender fall in darkness... almost as if through cold, wet, too-thin bed sheets. Wonderful writing.

    ReplyDelete

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