Monica Escalera
Stories (2)
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The Permanent Homecoming of P.B. Karpis
I couldn't see anything but streaks of light; behind me, something like two dozen eyes flashing red with the same intensity as the light ahead. Maybe I was disoriented from all the running and split-second decisions trying to shake these guys or something but chancing it with the light seemed like my only option. I had no idea where all the running had gotten me and the panic of the last few minutes seemed to momentarily supersede any concept of a location. I never thought I'd end up in this position again. I only knew the light was the one sure way to shake them and I knew what could happen if I chose it. I took a split second to brace myself for one last dash, possibly my last in every way, and this lent me a flash of courage. I turned my head back toward the crowd, still facing The Road ready to sprint if I saw any pupils start to dilate, and I just asked them, "What do you want from me?"
By Monica Escalera4 years ago in Fiction
Threaded
And I’m back. Wait. Why antonymously declare “back” as if I’d been “gone” when I know I’ve simply been the whole time? The simplicity of my existence doesn't mean I haven't been. This pulsating binary purity caresses and envelops whatever I am, whatever is me; its brilliant energy I dutifully reciprocate with every available curve and plane of my exposed surface as it stakes its reliable path, disappearing only to restart exactly where it always had. It's a perfect exchange. I could just be here forever. Maybe I have.
By Monica Escalera5 years ago in Fiction
