Fiction

I reach a brick motel, its walls strung with webs gleaming under the full moon. The cacophonous crows and zooming cars have washed away the motel’s soul, leaving it numb and still amidst the rush.

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?

Words drift by me, leading up to the great night sky. I watch them, all spiraling from an open book. The book has a sort of magic coming from it, an essence. I walk toward the book and hold out my hand above it. In my palm appears a word.

In the village, the sun was always tucked dutifully underneath sheets of clouds, and the wind was always brisk and energetic, and the people of the village were always horribly regimented.

Joad sat watching Abe jump over and over again. The silly little dog found this activity captivating as it was annoying.

Set on a lone countryside, the sun shines brightly.

A little toddler, in too-big garden gloves and dirtied overalls holds out a sapling. She kneels down and sets the sapling down …

Two years later

I woke up in the dark, but I was dreaming. Memories of salt and scales. Turbulent clouds and cloying air that choked me. I searched for the ocean rhythm and found only a syncopated beat interrupted by static.

The house was empty without her. The kitchen was robbed of laughter. Our room had stolen comfort. Nothing was the same. She was my everything.

When Johnny first put that seed in the ground, when he first covered it with soil and gave it water, he had no idea how big it would become.

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The child runs and runs through the suffocating night, looking for a place to hide, anywhere, just somewhere safe. There were two others with this child, but they were all taken. The child crouches in a small abandoned shack, shaking.

Note: This is an excerpt of a play I may or may not write to the fullest. It's just to get a grasp of what the play would look like, so you might see more of it. Or you might not. Enjoy anyway!