samatmyspace's profile

The room echoes his movements as he walks. Each step calling out his presence. The walls and floor are pure black African marble, mined by his father's company. He walks to the center of the room. From there he is surrounded on all sides by the great glass covered enclosures. A museum in the round. Behind the glass is a terrarium, divided into sections. Some sections are warm and dry. Others moist, the humidity collecting on the glass. Others have no roof, allowing the sun to shine in. Still ...

Sitting across from me, I see her shudder. The soft expanse of sweet youth. Her golden hair reminds me of days spent at the lake, her innocence fills the room with new found strength. Freedom is just around the corner. I bury my face in the morning paper, associating myself with worldly notions. It's a quarter to nine. "Shouldn't we be in chemistry?" she says. She flicks a strand and eyes her companion. They've been here before, it's clear. The waitress calls them lucky strikes, and I wish I ...

He watched her come walking out of the building, her body language announcing she was all full of purpose. Her hair was wet. She was alone of course, as she should be. She'd come right from work. This was her escape. The ladies gym. The place where she came everyday after work before coming home. Just another part of her routine. He watched through the windshield of this unfamiliar car. A rental. He watched her walk the length of the parking lot. Towards him. Near her car, where she'd parked ...

He drives around in the foothills outside of town. Preferring to be alone on "duty" days. Nobody knows where he goes or what he does. Nobody really wants to know. Especially not Ellen, the woman that's stood by him for thirty three years. These days he drives a new pickup truck. One of the big ones. It's all black and has a satellite radio in it In the early years, it had been that beat up old green station wagon. The one with the AM radio. Didn't work to well in the hills. He likes to listen...