First draft of Emarosa is done.
Starting the first round of revisions and edits, so expect the posted stuff to change sooner or later.
May have to remove it at some point if it gets picked up for anything, so there’s that too.
Chapters five and six posted.
Cracks in the curtain invite burning rays of light into crusty, bed-ridden eyes.
The stomach’s growl preaches no forgiveness for a lazy boy on a lazy morning.
Through the window he casts a glance to clear, vintage skies.
He’ll never know if they glance back.
The day begins like a day begins.
Warm tea sparks the fire in his Irish Cream eyes.
Radio breaks the radio silence, singing songs it’ll always sing.
A stuffed puppy on a cabinet; in his mind it sings along.
Toward the fridge he turns, a calendar with expired days left unmarked.
In the margin lies a note: “Good morning hun.”
There’s probably more to the story than the greeting implies.
But on the bottom a drawing with the caption, “See You Space Cowboy.”
Sizzling eggs came and went, their aroma drifting through an open screen door.
The weatherman should’ve taken a day off, ‘cause them clear skies are rainin’ awful hard.
Or was that tomorrow? And yesterday’s tomorrow, or the day before?
Gets harder to tell them apart.
An overlit room grows dim in the afternoon.
That’s a time best reserved for porches.
And the clouds go by like time never was.
Time was, they never would.
In between, some things happen and some things don’t.
Yet the sun grows tired or the Earth grows turn-y, and it’s time for another tomorrow.
Before long (how long was it) aging bones find their way to an expanse of a bed always welcoming.
And those crusty, bed-ridden eyes hide themselves away until tomorrow.