Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Stream Of Thought Prose

The fire-ant pain was delayed. It writhed like vines up my leg, blooming with intensity at each second, yet somehow soothing. I rid them with one swipe of my foot on my pant leg, almost regretful for doing so.

I peered up to where the path lay, just beyond the gate, where the deer came to drink. "This pain, it's not so bad," I said to the wind, smirking. She caressed my cheek in response then slithered away along the dribbling creek, tickling leaves as she passed.

I listened behind, for the door's creak, for my lover to say, "Are you okay, my dear?" I'd only nod in response from afar yet, it never came. I stroked Ella's head and breathed deeply of all that was around me, wondering if the wind would return and kiss me again.

"I'll get out of your hair for a bit, okay?" I said, hoping she'd sense the pain behind my eyes. "Sure honey," she replied with nonchalance, her precious attention upon her favorite series. I left, in the waning heat of that day, to spend my time in the silent company of my kindred lonely.

(c) Esteban Luis Soto 2015

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