welcome readers & writers! i'd almost given up the hope of writing today - SO much going on. but, monday guaranteed, right? at least it's still monday for most of you. to others eastward of here, hope you'll enjoy this tuesday post :)
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writers, join me in writing about today's photo prompt? post your short story, poem or creative non-fiction piece by clicking on comments below. thank you for writing with me. readers, comments are open to you as well.
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Samuel wasn't sure if he was the only person in town who tried studiously to catch rush hour, but he was sure he was the most committed. That's right. Catch it. Even if he finished his work on time, or, drats, early, he'd piddle around at his desk until 5:02 exactly. Until traffic was so thick that he was sure to sit through one or two, sometimes three cycles at every stoplight. Until the highway was as clogged as great Uncle Albert's old arteries.
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It wasn't that he loved his car; it was ten years old - or was it eleven now? It didn't have a stellar sound system. In fact, it was the cheapest he could find. No sense buying something nice when the car got broken into every couple of years. (He worked in a rough part of town.) The stereo worked just fine, however. The comforting voices of public radio personalities rose and fell over the hum of the heater with great regularity, soothing whatever bumps has arisen in his otherwise quiet work day.
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The truth of the matter was that he owed right much to rush hour because it delayed his return home by a good forty-five minutes, even an hour. One less hour he had to spend looking at her sad eyes and disappointed face. He'd figured out that it didn't matter what time he arrived home. An hour early, or an hour late, it seemed it was all the same to her. Nothing he did was ever enough. Nothing at all.
Whew! Hard story, Dem.
ReplyDeleteHere's a tanka - another Japanese form, kind of a longer haiku.
red paint on sidewalk
what strange thing happened last night
that inspired this word?
nickname? or observation
who ever knows what is meant?
TRAFFIC. That was the name of my brother's band. It wasn't anything big at all. They had only had a few gigs and had not preformed yet. OK they were pretty bad, but he was my brother and he was fourteen when-. When he had to stop.
ReplyDeleteHe had been a good kid. a pain in the neck sometimes, like all
brothers, but a good kid all-in all.
I don't know what i'm doing saying this. perhaps because of the red traffic painted on the road, that i'm staring at, or maybe because it was a year since it happened.
Yes, a year today since that car hit him right her. A year today since i stood by his bed in there hospital praying that he would make it....
Well it was a year ago, can;t let that slow me down or i'll miss dinner.
Chuck - thank you for your steadfastness in writing with me. I'm always happy to see your work pop up on the screen!
ReplyDeleteC Johnson - my young friend - you're a gifted writer for your age! Keep up the good work, and thanks for writing with me.