She never consented.
He couldn’t run from his shame.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
There is a comforting moment nestled within an impromptu visit, beyond quasi welcoming hugs and make up protecting pecky kisses, where thumping dj beats and conversational toe taps become glad-you-are-here high fives.
Amidst this disorienting array of rapidly moving light beams, an aloof curmudgeon from two houses up the street swayed and silently lip sang while sitting on matted grass beneath the colorful flash of an old sycamore tree.
(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
(He just arrived. Inform PICKERING)
All of his adult life clothes had been a systematic repetition of perpetual insignificance, but his hair, that was a different story.
He carefully styled his hair, not so much like James Bond, more like James Dean, if James Dean spent a little extra time in front of the mirror making a possible perfect a true perfection.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 148)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Distant birds disappeared into the sunder of gathering clouds as Preston centered his new bearings on a property that was finally his, really his, despite the turn of your back fact he shouldn’t be here in the first place.
His dress, which was the simplest collection of bland, whitewashed whatevers, was the very same linen threads he wore each and every day without ever once thinking about it.(Continued from Mytwosentences 147)(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The clean light from zeitgeber and summer sunsplash welcomed Preston to the brownish beige grama of his recently acquired house lot like a safety flashlight in need of replacement batteries.
Upon hearing an oddly muffled ricochet sound, Mr. Tapley (who was unknowingly being observed) instinctively looked up to see the shrinking zenith of a deep blue sky that weirdly appeared to pull dark clouds inward from it’s pine tree periphery.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 146)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
For Preston, clear emotion was the unusual presence of a minute droplet of moisture formed at the socket of his typically steadfast soul.
Dismissing this brief display as if matter-of-factly dealing cards for the next game of solitaire, he carefully checked each window one last time and cautiously got out of the cab to get a scoping view of his property.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 145)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Preston Tapley was a lonely nonpareil who not only strolled about without actually touching the ground, but also seemed to speak without opening his mouth.
The day he surreptitiously moved into the old Cummings house, a sad looking structure that had been abandoned in the middle of the night by the previous occupants eight years ago, his normally controlled emotions clearly got the better of him.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Namelessly and side by side, every face fed on the dutiful sense of a collective self which uniformly billowed from each burgundy splashed battlefield all the way up to the airy blue umbrella of promising bright sunshine.
In an old shadow of a new day our unknown heroes honorably rest, quiet but not forgotten.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
A man wearing a silly little Zorro mask somehow snuck into a June get-together and placed a ribbon tied gift near an outdoor tv, which was showing a baseball game that everyone, and I mean everyone, was watching.
He confidently kissed the host, who didn’t have a clue who he was or why he was there, and effortlessly removed a lush red rose from it’s vased stem and strolled out of the fenced-in backyard with a fresh pocket flower and a dustless pair of blue cowboy boots.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
As I dealt with my discombobulated bearings, which were truly amiss, I got an unexpected low hum in my ear that couldn’t possibly have come from anyplace else but the driveway.
I, in a dizzingly confused state, turned around apprehensively to drop to my battered knees and stare at a car that I think I remember from a horrifying night that my best friend died.
(Continued from Mytwosentences 135)
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads)
What if there was only a sing-song someday to look forward to?
What if yesterday was nothing more than tomorrow’s past because we had become too stale to embrace our sedulousness today.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Legend considered him a dashing scarlet pimpernel who could flawlessly wear a finely tailored silk suit while effortlessly grilling fresh bison beneath the endless blue skies of campestral South Dakota.
The face slap of reality spoke when his tolerant new bride calmly pointed out that his annoying hebetude had left their crowded backyard barbecue without sufficient propane gas or any dry matches.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The flightpath of an aimless gossamer was drifting in a weakening afternoon breeze that tickled noses and made just about everyone rub their eyes amidst the dusty setting sunshine.
As one bid adieu to a newly discovered bourbon still, flighty fluffy somethings from an alcohol-driven yesterday continued to float into an airy ballroom we call today.
(Photo: Michael Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Mytwosentences 