Are these star-crossed lovers organ thieves or grinders. Robbers of banks or people. Escaping some destiny laid before one of them who only finds shelter from his or her fate in the arms of the other. A road trip, an odyssey of Ulyssiad proportions. Lost in a forest, in a cabin, near a lake, on a mountain or burial mound as it may happen to be. A cave, an abyss or maybe just a cat, a date, a follower of sorts through rain-slicked nightscapes, down alleys and sewers alike to escape the unknown who may or may not be herding them to some destination of malcontent on the edge of a pier with no escape other than the cold dark sea. More to the one for the other to understand; the decision of course is which would be which and why. Scars in one cerebral in the other. Scars to the cerebral as the cerebral tends to madness and scars, generally anyway, seek quietude. A quest of sorts or not, perhaps some meandering, but that probably won’t be the case as some fantastic has already been introduced. So fantastic quest into a perilous nightscape with one to the other, eventually better, or not, maybe dead, eventually, but with illumination.
June 14, 2013
Ways to go
Design, invent, write, parent, cook, create View all posts by christophermwilt
This entry was posted on Friday, June 14th, 2013 at 3:51 pm and tagged with fiction, noir, poetry, prose, short, writing and posted in noir, observation, poetry, Uncategorized, writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.