Mytwosentences 214 (Dying To Know 37)

Allie’s taut, fully hard body found an elasticity in it’s graceful, meandering glide and gooseflesh glisten… and she continued to rub and gently wash away her compounded filth within nature’s vast, salty tub.

As the night kept breathing and thickening clouds morphed into flared nostrils, Allie’s floating thoughts suddenly turned valedictory… she felt a shivery twinge and frantically flailed to get out of the ocean immediately.

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 181 (Dying To Know 5)

“Mam, you need to have your papers ready, and please, if you don’t mind, remove your hand from my table.”

Allie, who was noticeably ripe and well past exhausted, slammed her other hand down and clamored, “Help me, for christ sake, please”… then her bloodshot blues rolled up to all white, and she collapsed.

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 180 (Dying To Know 4)

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

Mytwosentences 179 (Dying To Know 3)

Allie, who hadn’t known a blip of happiness in more than 6 years, crept towards the poorly shaved attendant that was seated and staring at all of the new arrivals.

She walked up to a monstrous, scarred oak table, slammed her soft left hand down on dirt and despair, and figured she’d ask what she needed to do to be a citizen. {my God, I just don’t know, was that what I needed to do}

(Photo: 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 177 (Dying To Know 1)

She arrived at the shores of her last chance, after what local papers would one day describe as ‘the unknowing victim of a deep sea and dead run’.

The pier was lonely at Dock 19, her child, who she would never see again, lay lifeless somewhere back in Ireland as wretched memories misted New York Harbor.

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 172

In this night’s nightmare, buffalos were roaming and the sky was glowing and the upside down made every unfortunate sunrise sideways.

The cramped room, which none of us wanted, was hot and without atmosphere, and that made the lack of water even more intolerable than the last sip of last night’s cheap whiskey.

Photo: Edward Roads

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 169 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

(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

Mytwosentences 165

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