The bare walls breathe poetry as he exhales his sins. It’s all about angles and slopes, though he daydreams in stanzas. The timing of life rings the same: right conditions, obtuse people, acute diagnoses, negative reactions, positive assholes, zero purpose, no hope. Angles and slopes easily become reality lived.
Architecture—that’s his thing according to the fancy certificate displayed on his meager office-wall back home. Roughly 6,000 miles from where his head now rests. He should know the exact figure, number, measurement but it’s all become meaningless to him. Out of habit, his mind is still listing things, grouping them together.
The foreign monument mimics the weight of her memory. Her vast presence that’d fill a silent room without a word. Her inky fingertips tasted of poetry as she’d trace his mouth before they’d kiss. Her eyes replied before “yes” left her lips, but he couldn’t contain her chaos. He reneged and cancer slipped its ring on her finger.
Written for Flash! Friday Micro Fiction Contest
Wow, there is so much in this story. You can read it more than once and get something different. My favorite phrase, though, is “6000 miles from where his head now rests.” Again, it’s subtle, and lets you draw the meaning out. Just great.