Left Behind

The short story below is a little abstract and different from what I usually write. Also a little dark, I don’t want to say ‘enjoy’ because you might not, but think about it.

This is where he left me.

Stuck in the between where I cannot feel but suffer all the same. Blood that once pumped hot through my veins has cooled into lead. My pulsing organ useless, served its purpose.

Eyes wide to the night. The stars twinkling overhead like a million pinpricks of hope, laughing in their folly, shining tiny beacons pointing the way home.

My mouth, once used for laughing, smiling. A coy invitation to rough whispers on slick lips, the glide of mouths, captivating sinful secrets, whispered on heavy exhales.

Blades of grass caress cheeks, palms, broad expanse of shoulders, heavily burdened. Dancing shadows in the frigid night, cool slices against my most delicate skin, fingertips frozen, dumb digits waiting for warmth.

The kiss of the dawn tingles the soul, and chases away the vast, inky night. But the rising won’t heal, because the dead cannot see it.

This is where he left me.

Come on over and friend me on Facebook at Lisa Lancaster.
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Photo by Erik Olsson via Flickr, licensed under Creative Commons

2 thoughts on “Left Behind

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