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sam-toil
sam-toil
A dystopian pessimist, I strive for vivid imagery with a dash of abstraction. All work is copyrighted by the author.
a hallway. offices. tinted sunlight. people who have forgotten my name. but i am here. and then a room. and a meeting. and i am unprepared. “you’re up” says the leader. and my lungs fill with heaviness as they all turn towards me. my mind screams. my throat locks. and then a word fights through the scream. and i breathe. and find a voice. and then another word. and a thought. then relevance. i am moving. and eyes do not wander. but the scream fights on: they will find out. i was connected at one time. so the scream would fade. but not now. these many years later. “we could use you again,” he had said. and i had relented. but why? boredom? faith? the scream of fear vs. the scream of isolation? or a familiar voice dragging me back from madness. “what have you been up to?” he had asked. and i had lied. and now my mind all scrambled between work and stupor. “what on EARTH are you talking about?!” demands the one who should have taken over for me. and the throat locks again. and the scream rises up. and he knows it. but sympathy has no place here. so i struggle with the scream. and find the words to hide the Fraud as he shakes his head in disgust. and i remember why i left. so i wade in the scream until i am done and take my seat. and the scream that never dies whispers, “what else is there?”
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Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
The Fraud
the smell wafted like a dream. charred wood and red smoke. “benjie!” she yelled as i ran away down the hall raising my arm against the flickering heat. “benjie, come back!” she pleaded. “leave him alone!” i stopped and coughed. hot air rushed across my face. hearing nothing but the roaring smoke i froze-up -- torn for the first time between Comfort and Knowledge. then slowly out of the choking haze came a whimper and a scrape. and a punch shook the wall. i peeked inside the sizzling arch. hot pitch oozed from an overhead beam caught fire and dripped tiny flamelets onto the hardwood floor. he was there alright. shaking and sitting on the floor in the corner. i whispered: “what’s the matter daddy?” he looked up through crazed eyes of fire and hate. “go away boy”. then he cried and hugged his knees.
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Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
A Jading