Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The fire was black, today.
Ignited with the blood
of a man
who's someone else.
After it died
the coals danced purple
and snickered into
the nothingness.

Wind blew pears off
a tree
causing them to
fall sporadically
atop a shed's metal roof;
acting as the
night's percussion instruments.
The man pondered
the fragility of human life
and of applesauce.

— The End —