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Literature
Accident
I found my arm snapped at the crook of the elbow like the broken wing of a dead bird. It lay discarded on the asphalt, red and tacky with dirt and blood. My ribcage lay a few feet away; a mangled bird's prison, the empty hull of a shattered ship after mutiny. Two legs like spilt chopsticks in the rain, growing damp and mouldering like clay, moist and hollow as the marrow leaked out, lickety-split. One last arm, fluttering like a heart on the deadened road, bruised and black under the drip dripping weather. But no heart could be found.
The Malvern Star sagged like a wet rose, gloomy in the moody dusk. Its shadow cast long over the road, dark
Literature
Bad for Each Other
He's thirty-eight years old and he's driving his girl back to her home, a dormitory on a college campus. He's twice her age but they make love and rest naked under bedsheets and talk about everything.
With the innocence and naivety of her age she looks at him, eyes bright, smile young. He sort of laughs, and they both must understand the ridiculousness of the situation. But they're addicted to each other and make great art (even though it was just an evening to hang out, not the time to spend the night and fuck and enjoy the company more than they should).
A giggle. "Am I allowed?"
She leans towards him, has a flash in her mind of kiss
Literature
Oh, the Irony
"You don't know anything!"
"I know."
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Another six-word-story, more serious this time.
© 2012 - 2024 MadOldHag
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Jetzt hab ich einen Kloß im Hals.