As stubborn clouds subsided and heafty seas found their norm, Allie slipped, no, actually fell, off the enormous sea bird that delivered her… a slight smile crayoned her face when the host approached.
“Welcome Allie, we are here for you” is what she said… Allie thought, how does she, it, that know my name?
Written by Edward Roads
As a moonlit fog confronted darkness, Allie struggled to pull her torn shirt above her head, back and forth hips wriggled out of her pants, and hefty boots, one at a time, plopped down on the shore leaving their mark.
She stood, completely nude, shameless and hard… letting her worn hands slowly slide over her tender, aching breasts… she took a deep breath, looked up, then down, and slowly waded into the water.
(Written by Edward Roads)
Shill, the loyal man who worked this seaside immigration seat for more than 30 years as part of what you might call a welcoming committee, looked at yet another girl, with another story, with another…
“Hi, my name is Allie… I just got off that rickety damned boat and I need someone to show me a quiet place where I can think.”
(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
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
She never consented.
He couldn’t run from his shame.
(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
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
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 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
Have you ever seen something so astoundingly beautiful that it could not be expressed with drawn breath and words?
When the warm alpenglow of heart arrives, forgotten seeds will bloom within a barren field without tasting a spat of water.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
A tiny woman with work-a-day dirt on her face demanded the wagon train stop before the next filthy man with a half empty bottle of whiskey spit out the usual semi-coherent blah blah blah that meant stop.
As so called frontier beans were slowly heating above yet another fire, lurking scoundrels began running beyond the spinning spoked wheels which rolled with a rickety rack towards the many unclaimed parcels of land that were up for grabs.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Years ago, propped on a weather-beaten park bench, she strummed alongside a crumpled paper cup and played the same eight song repertoire that had been scarred into her fingers since the start of her stay at the homeless shelter.
This morning, after actualizing as many makeshift table settings as her house could hold, she passionately put finishing touches on a succulent turkey and homemade stuffing feast that was annually prepared for any listless landlopers who saw one of her countless invitations posted throughout the entire town.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
After assuring his granddaughter that cooties didn’t live there, he securely held her angelic hand and took one step toward the modest warehouse where decades earlier he and his meant-to-be experienced the miracle of love at first sight.
As the grip of his trembling hand tightened and tears found furrows down his face, he was overcome by the devastating memory of that last magical twinkle before the essence of his existence was unexpectedly taken from him.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Mytwosentences 