The hate in my heart fed my brain, compelled stillness in my limbs, I waited in my hide. My camouflage was good and my patience strong. Grazing deer came and went, songbirds trilled and flew away. The light started to fade, but I stayed. My target drove down the lane, stopping just feet from his door. He opened the car door and started to emerge, I squeezed the trigger so very gently, saw his head snap back from the blow. I waited as still as before, then so carefully cleaned my den. Duty done on he who killed my son.
About the Creator
Peter Rose
Collections of "my" vocal essays with additions, are available as printed books ASIN 197680615 and 1980878536 also some fictional works and some e books available at Amazon;-
amazon.com/author/healthandfunpeterrose
.
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More stories from Peter Rose and writers in Fiction and other communities.
A walk in the countryside.
The rain fell straight down, no slanting due to wind, no swirling around. We shel-tered for a time, then braved the soaking that was to come, home was miles away and night was rushing towards us. Senses drowned and hope washed away, we walked unthinking and with no hope. The old lane flooded, and every step was a slip away from muddied misery. We did not speak nor think, one step more was all any could make. The light was fading, dark was near when we found shelter from the rain. Next time we go by train.
By Peter Rose3 years ago in Fiction
The One Who Stayed in the Dream
1 It started with the dream. Every night, I saw him. It was always the same. A boy with dark hair and calm eyes, sitting across from me at a café that doesn’t exist. The walls were pale yellow, the windows fogged from the rain outside, and there was always jazz playing softly in the background.
By Yamuni Kaijumi6 days ago in Fiction
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
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