King O'Neill
Bio
Stories (2/0)
The Canyon
Each rock in the road was working against my will to keep my eyes unglazed and open, like a knee rhythmically bumping against a swaddled baby. The brown signs of the Forest blended against the passing rocks and sand. I remembered a friend telling me how ugly he thought the desert was, how plain and dusty and earthen. This thought boiled in me and helped keep me awake on the road as my tires irresponsibly tossed and turned over a much too rough road. I tended to take my car on roads it had no business being on, just to prove to no one but myself that it could. I knew at any moment, a lonely jag of a rock edge could slice my tire and leave me there, stranded with no cell service, hoping that someone might find me. Though it had been hours since I’d seen another car. It had been days since I’d seen the flesh of another human or animal. Here there was a sparseness of trees, surely housing fauna of some kind, but in the desert they hide in the day and wait, evading my searching eyes.
By King O'Neill8 months ago in Fiction
Same Old Tracks
The jostling of a train can rouse the deepest sleeper and lull to sleep the most anxious window-watcher. Eyelids fluttering open and closed, feet tapping anxiously, pacing, kicking, waiting to be let off at the next stop. When in motion, the brain is sure to keep up with the body, so whether asleep or not, the mind will wander and flail. If a train must keep to its tracks, so must the mind keep to its body, or else the owner of both may be stripped of sanity, a spirit without a home.
By King O'Neill2 years ago in Horror