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
On a Sunday stroll with muted celerity, did you happen to hear the very first breath that tasted the tickled sweetness borne within the hypaethral expanse of today’s sunrise?
Unfortunately, our day to day psittacism frequently overlooks the simple amplitude and sensory quality that each of us honestly and uniquely strives to posess.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The hypnotic skirl of parade bagpipes could be heard warming behind tightly bundled six year old twin boys whose curiosity drew them closer to a marvelously endemic, nautical sculpture.
As the arm swinging bandmaster led two synchronized rows of frosty kilts down a spectator-lined boulevard, the twins’ eyes boggled at their briefly visible puffs of breath that mingled with frozen sails like quickly passing fair weather clouds.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The typically unfashionable girl who always wore stripes, but today wore a solid light blue blouse, asked her grumpy father why mom would not be dropped off by her colonge reeking, fakely handsome boss.
After putting on a marginally protective, overly worn oven mitt, the big smiling little girl pulled a perfectly reheated pizza out of a dirty oven and demanded they recycle the box.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The man with a slightly understated striped gray hat and a penchant for off the rack checked suits grabbed the nearest fawn, which was sexy but not overly so.
The table, which was always sought by the most important people who ever bled or breathed, waited.
(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 