He lifted himself over the wall and plopped down on the other side. He hoped he was safe.
Safe? Really? That's a ludicrous idea. But maybe he was. He wanted to be; for the first time in ages, it seemed preferable to the alternative.
So he tossed his knife to one side, stood, and started walking away:
from the only group he ever called "family."
from the only place he belonged.
from the buildings that loomed overhead.
from the streets that were lined with garbage.
from the alleys filled with blood.
from the struggle that he couldn't avoid.
from the gangs.
from the drugs.
from the fear.
from the body he left on the other side of the wall.
He heard sirens.
I like this. It's odd, and creepy, but I like it nonetheless.
ReplyDeleteCreepy? Huh. I hadn't thought of it that way, but sure. makes sense.
ReplyDeleteOh, I do like this. There's a lot of possibility here. It's just a beginning.
ReplyDeleteAlthough, his timing was odd. It could make sense in so many ways, but it just struck me as, "Why now?"
Sirens. Move it, man.
Hmm. I agree with Kyle. I sort of completely disagree with Lyssa because for some reason it feels to me like an ending, like the body he's leaving was his own and now he's a ghost.
ReplyDeleteWhich is actually a really cool idea in my head, but then it's my head, and that causes problems.
I just hope this poor guy finds a way out. Being trapped is horrible.
ReplyDeleteI took the body to mean his old self, and the sirens to be like a memory of the past, like maybe he had gotten away, broken free in body, though not fully in mind.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed this, Robby. You write good poetry.
(And hopefully my meaning isn't too constructed. [grin])
TOO LATE
ReplyDeleteThis is not poetry and constructed meaning is boo poop. :)
But thanks, and stuff.
(grin)
ReplyDeleteI thought he DID find a way out . . .
ReplyDeleteYou guys are just amazing.
I especially like the froms. They're effective and I enjoy the occasional good dose of repetition.
ReplyDelete