Mytwosentences 228 (Dying To Know 51)

Allie Carraig sat strong on the custodial sea bird, a peculiar and undigestable thought to be sure, as if she knew it was supposed to be beneath her… but how could that be?

In the glide of moments, she suddenly remembered the laborious harrow of the buckwheat, but it wasn’t like before, it was just a passing memory… then, for the first time since she woke, the fulcrum of the dizzying flight leveled.

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 223 (Dying To Know 46)

She hadn’t thought about it earlier, but her cough, in her retreat, returned… quite harsh, with an uncomfortable amount of crimson… then she jumped upon the table wearing worn jeans and a ripped cotton t-shirt, both completely dry from the wavy grass.

She put her tightened hands over her head, crouched to a fetal position, and scrunched her eyes closed, as tight as she knew, before she felt the beast breathing vomit into her ear.

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 197 (Dying To Know 21)

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 189 (Dying To Know 13)

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)

Mytwosentences 185 (Dying To Know 9)

The cloudless sky, that had been an umbrella of guidance since she left the bad place, was surreptitiously morphing into a grotesque endlessness of sooty, damp grey.

{why can’t I stop thinking about those damn sea birds} She instinctively closed her eyes to collect her conscience, suppress overwhelming pain, and rediscover the necessary fortitude to stand and face a massive dark form that knew her name.

(Photo by Edward Roads)

(Written by Edward Roads)

Mytwosentences 178 (Dying To Know 2)

She found herself looking about as if she did something wrong, yet the not so timid Irish expatriate stepped onto American soil with a subtle, eyes down hopefulness.

Back… there, was a well made stone and sweat ziggurat that housed an intimidating hulk, a true Skellig Michael man, who neglected at the last possible minute to inform Allie that her daughter might not be dead.

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 175

She never listened to anyone, including her till death do us part dear friend Romo, who packed his 77 brown Nova and left for the sweet air confines of Northern Maine to escape her gripping disease.

It had been one time too many, something she wouldn’t understand, no matter how many times he told her, until she helplessly woke the following morning.

Photo: Edward Roads

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 171

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

Mytwosentences 164

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

Mytwosentences 163

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

Mytwosentences 152

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

Mytwosentences 151

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

Mytwosentences 150

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

Mytwosentences 145 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

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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