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A home without a wall, |
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| How to Join | Member's Area | Private Library | Search | Sanctuary | Login | |
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A home without a wall, |
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| Passions in Prose |
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Untitled, first half-short story |
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Romy Senior Member
since 2000-05-28
Posts 1170Plantation, Florida |
Jack watches as the people walk back and forth along the sidewalk outside his front window. He sees a man in a black suit, hurry by, his hands stuffed into his pockets, head tucked down against the wind. A couple of kids on skates, a woman pushing a baby stroller. To Jack they are like fish, swimming by with blank, unseeing eyes, occasionally pausing for a moment near the window, before floating away. He feels no curiosity about these strangers, doesn’t care where they came from or where they are headed. He only watches them to pass the time, to try and distract the beast that bites and tears at his insides, pacing and banging against his small ribs. He hears movement, rustling noises coming from the dark hole across the room. It is the mother. She is hiding there, afraid of Jack and the beast, knowing that it grows larger and more demanding everyday. She doesn’t like to see the huge distended belly and paper-thin bones. She doesn’t want to come out. Only when the soothing liquid in her bottle is not enough to silence the agonizing roars, only then will she come. He waits quiet and patiently for her, but every muscle in his young body is tightly wound, poised, ready to pounce. Behind his eyes, there is a flicker of something wild and desperate. Finally, she wanders into the room, a gray, diseased silhouette cast against the bare wall. When she glances over at Jack, her face is a mixture of fear and disgust for the pale small boy sitting there. With a sigh of resignation, she turns away and heads for the kitchen. He is her unwanted obligation, but the beast must fed. |
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| © Copyright 2000 Deborah L. Carter - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
ok, you've got me wanting a little more... Karilea If I whisper, will you listen?... I would rather be silent and write, then speak loudly and be bound. KRJ |
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