The stone age lasted between “I see angels when I rub my eyes, Efrim,” and “this world and me don’t get along so well, buddy.” Almost thirty years, and the stratum ran deep.
Stones thrown into the pond, and the bony dirt convulsed.
She sat alone in the living room, lamp off, the Big Him gone for the night, children outside, co-conspirators in all things summer. The television was on, and there was sound, and there was movement, but it was a prop. She cared nothing for the staged chatter, the rehearsed expressions, the insipid laughter. She rubbed the bruise he set on her hip, rubbed it with her knuckles until it felt raw, and she waited for the night to conceal it, and everything else.
Evening drifted in slow, and the breeze from the Onondaga River, for once, did not stink.
**Excerpt from The Stone Age, a work-in-progress**
Ordinary Handsome 
This is alluring and fascinating. I love small pieces of things with so much to think about. It is a very dense and layered work.
You have my brain working in overdrive…
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Thanks, Tanya. 🙂
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This is wonderful and calls a powerful image. You’re on the right track, not that I need to tell you that. Thanks for sharing as always, Steven.
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A little bit at a time. Thank you, Laura. 🙂
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You draw a couple of strong contrasts. Between the children playing outside, and her sitting alone. Then between the fakeness of TV and her real and painful life. You do a great job in setting up conflict here.
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Thanks August. 🙂
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Intriguing.
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Thank you. 🙂
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This does feel intriguing, deep, mysterious. I agree with Tanya, nice to get just a small taste… for now. Well done.
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Thank you, K’lee. Yes, just a small taste. 🙂
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