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In the black of night.
I sat.
An old, worn couch.
The hum of a window unit.
The chirping of crickets.
It was cold.
I was cold.
In the dimness, I saw him.
God of death.
Or my father.
Hard to tell.
I offered him a match.
To light the cigarette in my mouth.
Or me.
He didn’t ask which.
And I didn’t clarify.
About the Creator
Shannon E. Mack
Hello, friends and fellow writers! I am a 37-year-old writer diving in for the first time. Working on a literary fantasy romance novel and sharing poetry along the way.
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Comments (1)
This gave me chills. The way you captured so much emotion in such few words — it’s raw, quiet, and heavy in all the right ways. That last line… “He didn’t ask which. And I didn’t clarify.” It hit like a whisper that says everything.