Eugene Evans
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Stories (5)
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Gray waters
There is a graying that comes with aging. The limitless shades of hair we possess as a peoples begins to diffuse into one gray sea of the forgotten. Our youthful visages, once chiseled and smooth, become haggard and fallen. Gone are the head turns and cat calls. A different force begins to drive us forward in our day to day. Was I ever young? I’m no longer sure. As my power fades, and my memory grows hazy, I’m not sure if I have misplaced my worldly importance, or if I had a misplaced sense of identity. We are all caught in the same cruel riptide. Struggle as we may, we are pulled out into the gray fog that swallows us up, and drowns us in our own hazard filled waters. I pray I fight in the face of foregone conclusions, my own gray a badge of honor for this worldly passing.
By Eugene Evans5 years ago in Poets
Asher
Asher sat fingering the check. Twenty-thousand dollars was more money than he had ever made at once as a landscaper. And certainly more than he had ever made as an artist, although he hoped that might change one day. But he was wracked with guilt over whether or not to cash it. He didn’t think his Mom would have wanted him to. He knew his Dad would have told him to “go for it”. His expenses had been minor. More time than anything. It was such a strange sequence of coincidences that lead him here. He reflected on what had put the check in his hand.
By Eugene Evans5 years ago in Humans
