John Korns
Stories (2)
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The Quick and the Dead
The Quick and the Dead Softness, flannel sheets, a slight dip where she used to sleep within the cocoon of his love. He felt the coldness on his forearm. Fingertips tracing her outline in the sheets. The awakening void at the edge of consciousness. A place once filled with her warmth where he yearned to dream; is now filled with night terrors. Her body was a sanctuary for Sara, who was only two full moons away from entering their lives. The loss of her presence, the silencing of her voice, his waking nightmare. The witching hour alarm slowly enters my consciousness, a vicious reminder, as I awaken to the dread loneliness of the night. Left in the darkness of my memories, I find no solace in life’s measure. Sleep but no rest. Work but no satisfaction. Friends whose distance is mute testimony to this shell of a man. Come back to me, Bonnie Jean. I must move now or sink into the infinite void of my depression. The river has become my escape, the ripples and eddies my highway to peace. Solitude is the shroud that covers my pain. There is no justice left within the world as some moments change everything.
By John Korns3 years ago in Families
Legacy
Legacy As a young child, I remember visiting a marijuana research station in Mississippi as my dad worked on his Ph.D. in Horticulture, at Mississippi State University. The sweet smell was enchanting as I peered into garbage cans brimming with green buds. Fear of God, my Father, struck a fatal blow to my curiosity. The instructions from God demanded that I neither touch plants nor "product" anywhere on the station. This was the conservative 1960s.
By John Korns3 years ago in Potent
