ready to run reckless

He saw her but didn't let on. First from the corner of his eye, then shamelessly. He imagined how she might be, holding his hand, traveling the rails, then late at night in a motel with red marquee light playing along the side of her face, her body in light and shadow.

She turned. It was the boy from chemistry class, the dreamer who mostly looked out the window. Their gaze connected, lingered. Suddenly, she felt skittish, a racehorse in the starting gate, her heart bursting, ready to run reckless.

cracked egg

The year she stopped eating and working and talking, she devolved, draping cloth over mirrors, not brushing her teeth. She went from Emily Dickinson to Sylvia Plath to Anne Sexton, reading their work over and over, copying their words. A day came. She reached for a pencil... cracked egg, hot griddle. Her first poem filled two pages. She now eats oatmeal and wanton soup from the Chinese restaurant.

Minimalist Collage 2

Rosie & Marie, A Short Story

Available on Amazon There are infinitesimal moments, milliseconds actually, when a decision is made and life takes an unexpected turn. For Rosie, it came while driving on the thruway, passing a double trailer, when, seeing the slight curve of the road ahead, she imagined how twisting winds and shifting weights of masses in motion could possibly blow the truck over, crushing her soft flesh and brittle bones into a confounding mass of crumpled metal that could never be put right.

Linda A. Lavid

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