His grandfather's face was not the same. It had been years, but they were buffered by a placid existence. It had weathered under the burden of internal oils seeping through in expressions unintended. One might recall that involuntary (embarrassing) quivering in the jaw as you seek a voice in the rightful place of sobs.
The iron oxidized.
The silver tarnished.
They sat on the tracks during the grandson's break from work and drank coffee as old friends might. These days the boy hadn't much time aside from those long shifts, and those he did were accounted for in days advance.
The dregs dribbled from a crease in a paper cup.
That rare silence only seen in times of death. It was all. He said it didn't matter much anymore, regarding that all would die alone. He said, "When the time comes, you'd better be your own."
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fuuuck roy, you nailed it. love the couplet at the end, too many good lines to ever bother pointing them out
ReplyDeletethe captcha thing made me type in "trapper" to post that ^
ReplyDeleteThe captcha is perfect!
ReplyDeleteAnd thanks so much. This was primarily stream of consciousness. Haven't tried that for a while.
Yeah! Bravo!
ReplyDeleteThe density of the story told in such efficient terms is really astounding!
You make very real characters in only a few lines, my heart was finely plucked by it.
So glad to have your feedback, Jim. I really enjoy your writings.
ReplyDelete