Journey’s End

He reached the edge of everything
And saw that there was nothing
But him alone
Thus
He shouted
“Why me?”
The wind blew
The earth sifted
While he stood there
Waiting for deliverance
And waited
And waited
And waited…

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JPEG Attached

When he checked his cellphone’s inbox this morning, Johnson saw a file attached to a new message: a picture of him sleeping, dated from last night. The photo had been taken inside of his room. He looked peaceful, serene. Immediately below it a line of text, all written in uppercase: “I LOV THAT U DON’T MOVE WHEN I TOUCH UR FACE.” He lived alone.

Hair Down

Long ago, they say, there once was a fair maiden, whose shining black hair flowed from atop her crown past her soles below. Long it spread, far and wide, covering all the land; trees and rivers, mountains and valleys, every hovel of every village, every square of every city. Even their capital lay under its silk-smooth cover. Men, women, children and beasts were tangled in its supple touch. One by one they drifted into that sweet oblivion that is sleep. A scent of fresh flowers filled the air. Bliss, o bliss! Soon, the land was quiet under the endless mane. Now, she stands alone, amid a sea as black as a starless night; she combs it gently, slowly. A lover’s caress every night. Dreaming, yearning, of growing her hair just a little bit more. Just a bit more. A bit more. More. More. More.