Mytwosentences 182 (Dying To Know 6)

The air is quiet… spotted gray sea birds dangerously race up and down the deep and jagged cliff lines that stoically fringe emerald green rolling landscapes.

An endless and vibrant blue sky seems to govern the soft tidal splash which tickles tiny round stones lying near the top of the pristine berm… Wait, where.. is it.. going…

(Photo: Edward Roads)

(Written by Edward Roads)

Mytwosentences 176

With eyes closed and a slightly slumped lean, Gia’s furrowed hands became a simple brace on the kin marble of her second floor kitchen counter.

She thought of her late father, his devotion to that blasted quarry, and his strange fondness for a rosebush, that seemed to bloom every damn year on their parched Italian countryside.

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 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

 

Mytwosentences 159 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

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As he gathered himself, Preston wasn’t sure if his shakey hand was a result of the blurry shape closing the distance or simply something else.

He continued to look directly at the solid unlocked door, even as his nosey neighbor was now only feet away wearing suspender-held cargo shorts and a smelly t-shirt.

(Continued from Mytwosentences 158)

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 157 (The Preston Tapley Chronicles)

Mr. Mahoney, Mick, to the nine pudgy ladies at the sallow St.Wiseman recreation center two streets over, gave a quick wave to a discombobulated Mr. Tapley who kind of noticed him, but not really.

Mick, who sees all, at least in this neighborhood, placed the warm and oft empty Coors Light can down on what nicely passed for homemade front steps, then walked across his carefully groomed lawn to initiate what would likely become an important handshake.

(Continued from Mytwosentences 156)

(Photo: Edward Roads)

Written by Edward Roads

Mytwosentences 154

He was a stout man with thick fingers who willingly engaged your ear, although following his hackneyed conversation style was akin to skipping alongside Dorothy through an endless field of soporific poppies.

With a great big beer belly that was kept snuggly in place by faded green suspenders, the grizzled ex-landscaper could be seen almost every morning tending to his retirement project while periodically sipping from an oversized mug of coffee.

(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