Gregg George Stallings

Escape

CHARLIE The day began like most others, a slow, resentful emergence from the blissful respite of sleep into the harsh reality of his lonely existence. The old man stretched out his weary limbs and left the shelter of the broken-down Chevy he currently called home. A labored stroll down to the sheltering trees along the river gave his arthritic joints a chance to limber up. Once there, he relieved his aching bladder. It was then that he spied the little black book. The book’s sleek black finish stood out against the greys, browns, and greens along the riverbank, so much that even the old man’s fading vision was able to pick it out.