The Butler

It was only about three drags of a smoke to the bus stop. He sat with his tattered belongings pulled against his scrawny legs; folded like an accordion against his chest. The deep blue sky would swallow him someday soon. Even after so many years, he could not find the words and found it best to drift into the comfort of obscurity.

She left when it got real bad; blood oozed onto the needle tip. The best had not been given.

In the end, he knew he was powerless and had to let go; hands cracked from years of worry.

Published by darren thompson

hello invisible people, I have lived well and continue to live well enough. I hope the same for you. Writing during a pandemic with catastrophic wildfires, hurricanes, economic collapse, political strife, and toxic air means one tends to be pretty sedentary. I am reminded of our last trip to Cartagena, Colombia and the gang of sloths hanging out in the trees. Funny, I don't think sloths are ever behind schedule though. The book, FALLEN, is near completion. I know I've said this before, but I am definitely in the final lap with it. Though, I have not settled on the publishing or marketing of it, yet. I am not even sure how I will use this website. Admittedly, I've been writing on this bit for the better part of ten years. My mind has been wrapped around some weird urban sci-fi-fantasy junk. Feels like a twisted premonition of what is happening today. On another creative front, I am setting up a new website called: vomitpages.com which I am kind of excited about. These are writings and ramblings and musings of life when I am out of the flow with writer's block. There projects within projects there. Oh, I live in the Columbia River Gorge of the PACIFIC NORTHWEST. My characters are way more interesting. thanks.

Leave a comment

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Exit mobile version