It was a regular afternoon. The Wednesday scene had already found its way inside the small café. The air was misty, somewhat damp from the almost continuous stream of coffee from the machine. Sterling, sitting at his usual spot, breathed in the caffeinated air and a partial smile crept to his lips.
He was more or less comfortable in this scene, where the only conversation stemmed from the waitress who had by now learned he wanted black coffee, period. Other than that, no one heeded an old man who enjoyed chess. He played and time passed.
The bell above the…
Coming home was supposed to feel like a trip down memory lane, not like a nightmare coming to fruition. “Maybe I shouldn’t have chosen to come back at night,” Harper thought as her car slowly ambled down the dirt road.
This was her driveway, leading to her old home. Her body tensed as her headlights shone on the house.
The house was yellow. Harper could remember how her mother had begged and pleaded with her husband to be able to use the color. “It’s too obnoxious, it draws attention,” he had said. Her mother turned her green eyes on him…
Poet. Writer. Hunter of Brilliance. Instagram: @fieldofwishes