Upon taking her trembling hand at the tracks, his smitten eyes grew dear, breath momentarily hugged from a heartbeat skipped and summer tanned pores fashioned exquisite runnels of exhale.
After he offered a subtle lamp of assurance, they moved in tandem across the rails and simultaneously found safety on the other side.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The one thing he repeatedly told her, way back in their not so splended when, was to never overplay her hand, regardless of where it was dealt.
Fresh out of an unsettling six year stint at Greengrove max, she took a couple of unpositive steps forward, slung a faded denim knapsack over her left shoulder and for the first time in more than a bit, began again.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Preston released the tight grip he had on the key and let it fall to the bottom of his left hand pocket.
He took in a deep breath, puffed out his cheeks like a blowfish and blew out a long current of audible air before deciding it was time to turn around.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 160)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Mick had stopped and was standing bug-eyed amidst the overgrown straw of a long forgotten front lawn when he started to feel funny.
As the sweat began to surface, he pulled a crusty handkerchief out of his back pocket and haphazardly patted his furrowed brow.
(Continued fromMytwosentences 159)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
As he gathered himself, Preston wasn’t sure if his shakey hand was a result of the blurry shape closing the distance or simply something else.
He continued to look directly at the solid unlocked door, even as his nosey neighbor was now only feet away wearing suspender-held cargo shorts and a smelly t-shirt.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 158)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Preston was about to slide the not so shiny brass key back into his sweaty pocket when his diminished periphery caught sight of someone.
That second sound, the one that gave him a spine wriggling shrill, was wearing on him as his glazed attention finally began to focus on Mick and his unbrushed teeth getting closer.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 157)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Mr. Mahoney, Mick, to the nine pudgy ladies at the sallow St.Wiseman recreation center two streets over, gave a quick wave to a discombobulated Mr. Tapley who kind of noticed him, but not really.
Mick, who sees all, at least in this neighborhood, placed the warm and oft empty Coors Light can down on what nicely passed for homemade front steps, then walked across his carefully groomed lawn to initiate what would likely become an important handshake.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 156)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
While strangely stretching clouds continued to fold upward, Preston started a nondeliberate step toward the massive chipped red door of his newly acquired house.
As his shadow began to draw long on the brittle of his parched lawn, a second undefinable sound, seemingly from the backyard this time, widened his splintered eyes.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 149)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
She never consented.
He couldn’t run from his shame.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The terminally sick farm boy, who was no more than five, impatiently prattled from a smushed back seat beset with nacho chip crumbs and a warm helping of afternoon orange/yellow sunsplash.
Without mouthing a single word, which in most circles would be considered perfectly normal, he blearily windowed the continuous zip of painted white road slashes and loosely held a hopeful grip on moist and falling apart animal crackers.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
After he carefully slid into a somewhat snug space in a perfectly pish-posh section of town, J, not Gatsby mind you, but Gunther, proudly emerged from his polished blue automagical chariot and showered himself in what could only be described as impeccable sunshine.
As soon as the one time cool, now completely off the charts cool car door was closed behind him, the entire day, for that matter any day from this point forward, was his to tether, take and twist.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
On the cold side of a clear kitchen pane, an almost audible serenity presided over the early morning stretch from abounding twigs and blanketed boughs.
With breath and hot coffee steaming the window, a newly opened front door practically framed the trundle of the living day, which appeared to momentarily stop and smile back.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Holding the ballot in my free hand, I purposefully pulled a colorful linen curtain to the side and slipped into a makeshift, fiberglass voting booth that exoterically resembled a motel step-in shower stall.
As I reached for the partially chewed scepter of expression, I was summarily slapped in the face by the grandeur of this dutiful moment and the inherent limitation of my simple station.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The amative man with created red hair and a pocketless plaid jacket was about to hold the arm of a fubsy blind woman who was curiously smiling on a busy train platform.
As his pocked, hardened hand extended in a cordial show of support, the menial mystery of his lost reading glasses appeared snugly in the caring clutch of a perceptive, unbusy lady named Rose.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Mytwosentences 