Knock, knock.
Who's there?
It's me, he said.
And it's me, she said.
I hesitate and anxiolate.
I say I'm not home.
I believed they would leave.
Knock, knock
Who's there?
That guy? That girl?
No, just me, said that guy.
And just me, said that girl.
I don't know what to do.
I freeze myself in time.
If eons pass, do you think they'll just leave?
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
I can't take this anymore.
I open the door
To find me and only me.
I would've waited indefinitely,
But I'm so glad you're finally home with we.
Knock, Knock.
Who's there?
It's we and only we.
About the Creator
Marc Peraino
Short fiction and poetry author in Honolulu, Hawaii.
Keep reading
More stories from Marc Peraino and writers in Poets and other communities.
Praying on the weak
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. It showed my lonely chambers, in the back of a cold church. It showed Alby Duncan and his daughter, Lucy, standing behind me. Alby had been a member of my flock so long that I remember Lucy being born. 19 years ago that was. It was always a delight to see them. Lucy smiled at me in the mirror. “Hello, Father Morris,” she says.
By Shane Dobbiea day ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.