There were moments, brief indeed, perhaps better described as pauses, where unremarkable events that took place during the course of a given day seemed to subliminally disengage; as if the air, in all it’s capacities and nuances, suddenly got quiet.
Those were the thoughts that seeped into Allie Carraig’s unsteady mind when her regard for the bloody syringe abruptly dissevered… and she noticed something absolutely terrifying.
(Written by Edward Roads)
Beneath a starry and birdless sky, on the center crest of this safe and magnificent islet she called Brigadoon, the sole Sovereign, housed in a hooded woolen wrap, serenely sat with legs crossed, palms up and arms fully extended.
Her name was Zenobia.
(Written by Edward Roads)
Should curious souls be brave enough to approach this very small place, said souls would inevitably fall prey to a petulant portion of the Atlantic that callously reduces any craft to an unpredictable skiff of temerity.
Before their imminent demise was at hand, seafarers might glimpse an overwhelming radiance undulating betwixt the formidable spires…the island’s majestic breath.
(Written by Edward Roads)
Tall, jagged walls of ancient rock rose high along the perimeter of an almost beachless shoreline, and protectively cradled the rich topography naturally encased within.
The verdant and lively land, flourishing with succulent fruit trees and lush vegetable gardens, was intricately connected by rudimentary footpaths which cleverly converged at a substantial, circular clearing in the center.
(Written by Edward Roads)
In an unflinching formation that featured a hint of pugnacity, spotted sea birds carefully maneuvered above a clandestine, rock-ribbed island located almost twenty miles northwest of Skellig Michael.
Lost amid the ferocity of a continuously raging ocean and unknown to even the most detailed nautical charts, decades of maritime vox populi commonly dismiss the tiny island as an eerie myth.
(Written by Edward Roads)
This time the quiet air seemed to focus her scattered thoughts, instead of transporting them to muddled longitudes and convoluted cerebral precincts that constantly flickered from just beyond arm’s length.
Allie backed up two or three steps, knelt down, and picked up a fairly hefty, discharged syringe with dried blood on the outside… but the disturbing crimson color was also on the inside.
(Written by Edward Roads)
As she stared into the turbid, wavering mass… her arm, now tingling with apparent recovery, briefly diverted her attention to the right, where she noticed a small tube on the ground.
{..what happened to my…nothing …there…why am I…} It was at that moment the air got quiet.
(Written by Edward Roads)
Her milky white midriff was thinly drawn, ribby, perhaps even emaciated… but Allie Carraig was experiencing a physical and introspective resurgence of soul, that in all likelihood would unshade the mystic margin between life and death.
As a black and comfortless sky was developing over Dock 19, actually a wasteland tagged Dock 19, the encroaching mass, now more amoeba than hominid, drifted up to the very tip of Allie’s nose.
(Written by Edward Roads)
Besides the tight rope cable around her neck, Allie wore nothing but faded black jeans, a thick cotton T-shirt, and scuffed work boots whose untied laces hung stiffly askew.
She pulled at the base of her cinereal shirt, tore a 5″ swath all the way around, and twisted up an effective tourniquet for her right arm, which was now completely numb.
(Written by Edward Roads)
Mytwosentences 