Month: November 2018

Mytwosentences 199

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After she was laid off from the crab cannery and unable to sleep an English wink, Laura, nude and shadowy, made her way to the filthy front window of the second floor flat she rented from a fat, boisterous woman named Viv.

Looking over the broad thicket, and now wrapped in a soiled comforter she would never, ever touch otherwise, Laura contemplated the sketchy path she took to this point; and decided to be better than the grainy, blank stare she gave more than one hundred eighty years ago in London’s first known photograph.

(Written by Edward Roads)

(Photo by Edward Roads)

Mytwosentences 198 (Dying To Know 22)

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Allie’s eyes widened as she slid her right hand back and forth over the etches, gouges and grooves strewn atop the large, rectangular form; whose surface, in the partial moonlight, resembled a well detailed map of tributaries.

As she involuntarily walked around the perimeter of the table, her fingertips rode burrs, her eyes fell shut, and she liminally realized the haphazard scrawl was actually a boustrophedon style of deliberate writing.

(Written by Edward Roads)

Mytwosentences 197 (Dying To Know 21)

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As she carefully approached the enormous, oaken table, Allie’s vacant acceptance of what was unfolding around her started to bend, like a forgotten aqueduct that began to receive dribs and drabs of fresh water.

She hadn’t an earnest thought, or a simple memory recall, about where she came from or why she was there… only that her name was Allie and someone or something had made her bleed.

(Written by Edward Roads)

Mytwosentences 196 (Dying To Know 20)

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Just beyond the table, a perpetual breeze serpentined through the tall, wispy grass, and created a symphonic wave whose syncopated rustle sounded like a gently plucked harp.

As Allie rubbed her right arm and stepped toward the table, she observed the pristine seafront and it’s naturally meandering striations, which seemed to imprint time’s tide in a coastal longform.

(Written by Edward Roads)

Mytwosentences 195 (Dying To Know 19)

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She was alone with the wind… no hungry, discombobulated crowds, no assemblage of rickety boats that discharged nameless aspirants, and no indication, save for a single thing, that Dock 19 existed.

Allie, who was standing at the lip of an encroaching tide, dropped the mysterious syringe onto the wet shoreline, and fixated on what appeared to be a hulking table near the top of the berm.

(Written by Edward Roads)