Title: Epitaph
Subtext: If we can't speak all of our mind any time we'd like, we must write.
Author:
Date: 17 Nov 15 (Tuesday in the PM)
Copyright:
Time: Less than a minute
Replies: 38
Revisions: 20
Publicity: Superfeed

Behind me came a crunching sound, then a leaping pounce and growl that rattled my chest bones. I ducked – rapid sheer instinct. It was a bear flying over my head and tumbling into the woody thicket. I ran like hell on a deer path.

*          *          *

I had wanted peace, so I took a walk where there were no people. I drove for an hour and picked a spot I didn’t quite know. There was nothing out there for concentric miles until a nuclear power plant cropped up in a cordoned-off part of wilderness.

*          *          *

Its reactors were melting down now, and a wave of radiation had gotten to the bear and me before either of us could do anything for the other. We were lamed.

It was minutes; then the end. There is no shock that bounds terminal pain. More than anything, it’s a weird rush of what might more routinely come on like a slow reaper going the pace of life.

*          *          *

In the secret pocket of my fleece were two tiny seashells, one spiral smaller than the other. I found them on the shore near my home and thought of my two sons. I kept them as a reminder.

Roam in The Land

This is where replies and revisions get situated if you're a writer. Writers can log in to craft, reply, and read everything on offer in The Land. Want to get involved? Start here.
Rooster Land
Verses & Vignettes &c.

Encapsulation

It has been 117502576 seconds since we began. Animals, Ink. got its start 76332976 seconds ago .

Nota Bene

"Writing is a little door. Some fantasies, like big pieces of furniture, won't come through." – Susan Sontag