A Man Made

Fatigued from sleepless nights, I am running off the fumes of daydreams and sauntering through a mist thick as white cotton. My buoyant heart propels each footstep, right, left, right, left, and without notice my foot catches and I stumble. Chest down on the ground, I turn my head to peer behind and notice a clenched fist laying at my heel. As I draw in breath, nearly choking on the soupy air, I watch the fingers slowly unfurl, flex and relax as if articulating a secret. Perhaps delirium is the reason a panicked frenzy doesn’t settle in my bloodstream, but I am cocooned in fascination and find myself placing my own hand onto the other. This hand is warm, callused and sizable in comparison to mine, and suddenly I feel intoxicated with fearlessness.

To be continued…

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One thought on “A Man Made

  1. unkle steve says:

    This reminds me of when I came home from the war, I was only comfortable in the night, I would run and run and run, through the woods, faster and faster, ducking branches I could not see, just knew they were there, able to follow the path because I could sense it on the Astral Plane. Then I would stop and stand, hurrying my breath to still so I could hear, once something startled a deer, it was running full speed along the path straight toward me, I stood waiting to see what would happen, how it would feel to get hit head on by a full grown deer, but then at the last minute it saw me and veered off into the woods. I walked home, refreshed for a while.
    I love your writing, keep it up.

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