Friday, February 19, 2010

48: Revenge

She sits on the porch, looks at the backyard of trees and deep woods. The chirping of birds, the rustle of wind on leaves. At night, it’s just blackness, nothing but sounds, her mind writing fictions about what each meant. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Somewhere tires crunch on gravel circling, never coming closer no matter how much she imagines so.

2 comments:

David Erlewine said...

this one really strikes a chord

i bought my house mainly b/c of all the woods behind it and the huge deck; hasn't worked out the way i envisioned, either. i pictured myself sitting out there at night, listening to the leaves rustling but at night it's so freakin' quiet.

love the end of this one.

Christian Bell said...

Thanks, David! I wrote this thinking of someone's house in the country. The darkness at night, the silence except for nature sounds I found somewhat unsettling, and I felt like I was just waiting for someone or something to jump out and disturb the calm.