Poor Peter
By GratefulGurl
A flannel covered window faces the road. From the otherside a story can be told. Empty cans and paper plates cover the floor. In filth and discomfort he lives no more. Fearing the screams and noise of remorse. Awake in his bed awating the final course. At the ceiling he stares for a very long time. He's become quite good at playing mime. Sitting alone with his arms around his knees. A door flys open and it is light he sees. Looking up to see that no one is there. All that he can recognize is that awful white glare. Up to his feet and to the door. He shuts it very quietly and looks to the floor. Under the door shadows of footsteps appear. He gasps and springs and hides behind the shears. A turn of the doorknob gives his heart a jump. A slip and fall on his head is a bump. The door slams shut and back on his bed he lays. In only a short matter of time his life finaly fades. A flannel covered window facing the road. From the other side a story can be told. Written December 5th, 2001 © on Dec 05 2001 09:06 AM PST 0 • 1
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"A flannel covered window faces the road...."