There are courses of events or something like them that determine little more than less. Of course these courses are not always clear to those determining them much less to those traversing. At the thought of being bound by some such externally determined predisposed path there is shaking as no apparent exit is apparent. Absence of motion in the stead of every fiber urging motion yields an occasional view from a gap far too small to use, but eat me, drink me, or something or the other might be in play here or there as panic falls to sleep across a bridge.
June 27, 2013
Design, invent, write, parent, cook, create View all posts by christophermwilt
This entry was posted on Thursday, June 27th, 2013 at 4:32 pm and tagged with abstract, claustrophobia, prose, short and posted in Fiction, observation, poetry, writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.