Eighty, he cried for someone dead.
They knocked. The door knocked back.
The good morning news to nobody.
911 called, time of death answered.
Fingers left prints. Hands left bruises.
The birds will still sing tomorrow.
The diary never held many secrets.
He remembered her. She remembered nothing.
He waited for her to return.
Joining her on stage, her wife.
Lost hopes. Reward for their restoration.
The paramedic drove; their love rode.
"Goodbye sir. I'm sorry. I failed."
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:07 PM UTC
Eighty, he cried for someone dead.
They knocked. The door knocked back.
The good morning news to nobody.
911 called, time of death answered.
Fingers left prints. Hands left bruises.
The birds will still sing tomorrow.
The diary never held many secrets.
He remembered her. She remembered nothing.
He waited for her to return.
Joining her on stage, her wife.
Lost hopes. Reward for their restoration.
The paramedic drove; their love rode.
"Goodbye sir. I'm sorry. I failed."
These are just six word stories from my Creative Writing I class.
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