An Anthology of Writings

An Anthology of Writings

Status: In Progress

Genre: Other

Houses:

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Other

Houses:

Summary

A collection of various short stories and other writings I've done.
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Summary

A collection of various short stories and other writings I've done.

Content

Submitted: February 14, 2017

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: February 14, 2017

A A A

A A A


The Blue Guitar

 

The lonely man sits in his lonely apartment, strumming his lonely guitar. His age weighs down his face, bags under his eyes and wrinkles across his skin. Wrinkles around his eyes, signs of smiles he never gives anymore. His eyes are blue and bold, but are cloudy and sad. Bony, withered fingers strum the guitar.

 

Strum strum strum

 

Outside his lonely apartment is a lonely little pigeon, perched on his windowsill, hiding from the rain splattering the window. He watches the pigeon while he strums. The poor bird, he thinks, lost, cold, scared, alone. How strangely alike they were.

 

Strum strum strum

 

The lonely man shivers inside his lonely apartment, but doesn’t move to put on the heat. His knees aren’t what they used to be, years of kneeling making them weak. As he strums with his withered old hands, he looks around the room, trying to find something that wasn’t blurry and fuzzy, unable to be made out. He didn’t need to see anything to know what was on his walls.

 

Strum Strum Strum

 

The lonely man didn’t used to be so lonely. Happy pictures of the days when he had someone lined the walls. Him and a wife, a pair of kids, a dog. The whole family in front of their brand new car. Smiling faces. Happy faces. Innocent faces. Living faces.

 

Strum strum strum

 

A lonely cross was on the wall of the lonely apartment, gathering dust. The lonely man used to pray in front of it every night. A lonely prayer in a lonely apartment, asking God why he was destined to suffer so. Begging forgiveness for a crime he didn’t know he’d committed. The lonely man’s knees aren’t what they used to be. He doesn’t pray anymore.

 

Strum strum strum

 

A pile of papers are stacked on the lonely man’s desk. Papers from years ago. An insurance claim for a wrecked car. Letters of condolences. Wilted, dusty, rotted flowers, not yet thrown away. A memory. Three death certificates, buried under old newspapers and coffee mugs.  

 

Strum strum strum

 

The rain begins to stop. Sun fills the lonely apartment. The lonely pigeon on the lonely windowsill flies away. The lonely old man pays no mind. He sits in his lonely apartment, strumming a lonely tune on his lonely guitar, withered old hands plucking a long forgotten song.

 

Strum strum strum.

 


© Copyright 2017 starsongs. All rights reserved.

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