k.e.horn
Might it be nicer to wander and to wonder, to leave your home and the map behind with it.
Every day every hour the world tells us: execute
Execute the program.
Execute your responsibilities.
Execute anyone who is different from you.
Don't like their ideals? Execute. Don't like the way their body fits in their clothes? Execute. Don't like what society tells you they represent? Execute.
Peddling my bike faster, I jerk my head to the right, glancing over my shoulder to see how much ground I had managed to gain from my pursuer. I knew that just 100 meters ahead of me was Watchman's Cliff - if I didn't manage to lose him before then, there would be no escape, save for the 600 meter drop over the edge.
I see you watching me from across the room. No, I don't see you, not at first; its your eyes probing my entire body that I feel, clinging to each and every curve. But its not a feeling of worry or dread. Its a feeling that for the rest of my life, I want to have those eyes on me, watching me wherever I go...
I don't know why I went to the forest that night, maybe just to get away from all of the noise that hurdled down around me; of all the nights I had to choose that one, the night when he was also there, lurking in the shadows.
The dish was now strewn in pieces across the floor, the ribeye steak and mash potatoes glued to the floor with the mushroom gravy she had spent hours preparing.
writing since 2015 · 6 entries · 5 days shown up
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executefloornightwatchingeyesbodyfeelingdishnowstrewnpiecesribeyesteakmashpotatoesglued