Yellow light paints the floor,
Marred by dark slats of shadow.
Cool porcelain absorbs the heat of skin,
As tears pound the splintered floor
In a warning drumbeat
That must wake the world.
But no one comes.
I stare at the shadows,
Searching for a rescuer.
The shadows stare back,
Silent and waiting.
Waiting on me to realize.
And I do.
The rescuer is already here,
Staring at the shadows,
Tears pounding out the
March to freedom,
Yellow light pointing the way.
About the Creator
Vanna Fuqua
Great story comes from great characters. Whether I'm writing science fiction, fantasy, mystery or some combination thereof, I'm looking for a quirky character to drive the story.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from Vanna Fuqua and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.