Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Billy Goat Under the Bridge - Prose

He’s old and crumpled as he tries to emote the figure of a sweet old man.

Oh, how cute, I’m here and I will take care of you.

Don’t worry little fella, you will be loved when your time comes.

I wrap my arms around him and feel the frailness of his stature.

He uses a stick when he walks, not a cane, but a stick for a cane makes him feel like an old man.

Days pass and I get a call, my cell phone battery is depleted and the call goes directly into voicemail.

I listen to the message and a voice starts speaking, “ya, this isn’t going to work, I’m not a business, I’m The OLD MAN. I called you 3 hours ago (5:30 am) and haven’t gotten a call back”!

I strain, and become rigid, my pulse quickens and I quickly have to decide, “fight or flight”!

I take a long slow breathe of air into my lungs, I’ve had a good night’s sleep and I have woken up in the comfort of my own home.

My “safe” spot.

I discard both options before me, “fight or flight”, and I look around me.

No one is there but me.

I’m safe, no rocks are being hurled at me, only empty meaningless words.

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