Running
as Father
He
calms his breathing as he slows to a stop; watching the world run by him, in
his green sea water swimming shorts. His hair has aged to gray and blackish, he
tries to keep strong in such a hating world. He moves and moves and steps further
and further, running and jogging farther away from the abyss. Searching for
comfort and help with raising teenagers who seem to despise him. They intended
no harm or hurt.
Suit
and a tie is what he lived in for days and years as a grown up, trying to make
an impact in society. As he ran past a merry-go-round he found himself having a
flashback, of when the teens were little and innocently loving; he smiled at
the memory. Passing stores and houses in a small town where he had grown up and
where he had raised his own five dollar family.
He was quaint and a little man sturdy and strong-minded. He was selfless
in others eyes, he waved and they waved as he swept on by down the road. While
he rushed through abandoned streets and alley ways, he began to wonder his
purpose among others and himself.
Stopping
to breathe in the fresh night air, agitated he took a slow walk around a red
brick house. He stops and stares across at the snowed on pine trees and faded yellow
garage door. So many memories, so many happy and sad times, all seemed to flow
out at him all at once. A prideful tear drops onto his white bland shirt, he
whips it away as he drops to his knees, frustrated wondering where he had gone
wrong with them all. Exhausted and hopeful he gained courage and rose from his
brandished kneeling, he sprinted giving way to lost and useless questions that
were unimportant to a day.
-S.M. Bjarnson
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