|Stories Scripts Videos Music Non-Fiction Books Blog|
Short Attention Span Fiction
Date: Sun, 23 Oct 1994 00:12:52 -0500 (CDT) Pounding rain on the mountaintop, I was holding her hand for dear life, for somehow she had slipped. Rain was pouring down like there was, quite literally, No Tomorrow, which has always been the nastiest of memes to find itself creeping around my subconscious; blood on my back from horrible wounds was stinging and distracting and oozing and ubiquitous. My arm strained from the fury and the frustration of holding her hand as she dangled over the sleek black precipice, the nothingness you've seen before laid out below her, gaping maw open wide, smacking its lips, rocks and distance and air and clouds below her as she hung there, suspended from my hand. "Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ," she kept screaming, her feet kicking the air, and my arm was just getting tired, and I was furious, and I was frustrated, "Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ," electric CONTACT of our hands didn't mean all that much in the long run, because, quite literally, there was No Tomorrow, and finally, I just let her go. Because I was tired. I was asleep when No Tomorrow came. Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ...
You must be logged-in to post comments.
About This Site
Log in / create account
Scotto.org FAQ Scotto's Web Trail
This site is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. Contact Scotto
Leave a comment in a post! Or better:
Email scotto.moore (at) yahoo.com!
|Copyright Scotto.org until 2087|