During the battering storm, Anna and Sadie were playing, truthfully tossing, a 99 cent Wal-Mart ball back and forth on a small splotch of saturated lawn in front of their parents coastal home.
A quarter of a mile beyond the splash zone, an old wood-stapled pub opened on time with a below average drummer setting up his cymbals on a small smoke-beaten stage.
Photo: Michael Roads
Written by Edward Roads
Everlong friends, sipping rectory found tea at bible study on Tuesday night, reminding her that peacefulness is driven by an inner majesty that blocks the pain.
In the end, cold Bristol snow flurries gave way to an alert 87 year old that had seen a thing or two, maybe three; wanting to shake hands with anyone who had the compunction to see her as something more than a small dot on an equally small map.
Photo by Edward Roads
Written by Edward Roads
(Continued from Mytwosentences 168)
The walk toward the cab was slow, actually umbrella in the wind discombobulated, but Preston pressed on with eyes wide.
The clomp of his backward progress seemed similar to that of Frankenstein’s monster in a cool movie he watched only yesterday…then he saw the thing that would change his life.
Written by Edward Roads
(Continued from Mytwosentences 167)
After looking up at a rolling quilt of a sky, he immediately took off toward the annoying and unexplained sounds of his new backyard.
As Preston ran upon the matted and long dead grass of his side lawn, he caught something unsettling out of the corner of his eye… the taxi that dropped him off was just sitting there.
Written by Edward Roads
(Continued from Mytwosentences 162)
Preston moved mummy-like, shock was turning his already sketchy palate to a slightly chewy dust, toward the vacant spot where unmet Mick wasn’t.
As he knelt near the lush green of his missing next door neighbor’s perfectly manicured lawn, another sound, what was this three or four now, boomed from his yet unseen backyard.
Written by Edward Roads
Their corner of the neighborhood had a palpable pulse and seemed to breathe life into the early morning, even before lines formed to join the bulging sea of bakery chatter, endless cups of fresh coffee and delicious warm pastry.
The simple charms of community, once on daily display, had given way to fingerprints and faceless face smudges, nothing more than glass tombstones in an unforgiving domain gravid with interloping greed.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Over the years she grew to be the doyen of the Tuesday night crochet crew, which helps explain the homegrown red roses that were promptly placed at the old wood fence when two prom kids failed to navigate the corner last June.
As three generations of family were en route to celebrate her ninety years, a worn but aware Mrs. Rothschild looked out a spotless kitchen window and lost breath at the new chain link fence that overnight had become a horrifying cliche.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
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
The new home owner turned and extended his hand, but was only greeted with the tattered, unright air (of a god forsaken place) blowing in it’s own rhythm over an unfamiliar space.
The yet unmet next door neighbor had suddenly become nothing more than a crusty off-white handkerchief sitting without purpose on Preston Tapley’s thirsty front lawn.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 161)
(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
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
Mytwosentences 