He sits with the engine off staring straight ahead, lost in the thicket of mind, filled past the point of pure saturation, this weight on his shoulders, through with being, the prick makes the world disappear, nothing seems to change, falling to the ground, waiting for something terminal. She walked into the room, arms spread apart, this is when we started to break, yearning for a fast escape, we were just boys when we heard that death had dropped by to take him away. He had tried before, but today was different. The corpsmen found him, a man cut both ways, eyelashes blocking the sun, my father turned into a dream, a cloud of smoke and ash, to much to bear like an abandoned barn, I forgave his passing. My aunt said he use to visit daily traversing her front porch, lost in a state of transition after losing his bet with mortality, trying to play one more hand. I guess he found the card he was hoping for, getting another round at the table. We haven’t heard from him since.
– Josh Fleming
Inspired by words written by Robert Lee Brewer in: Solving The World’s Problems, word re-arranged for a remix challenge submitted to the author at: