Grit

Grit.

It’s been a slow burn. Two days into summer and the moon was huge and orange in the sky. But I was low and face into the ground.

I need a shave. A drink. And a good shit. The dirt sticks to my face. The dust gets in my nose and mouth. The worms work their way in. They take and take. I don’t mind. It’s the last that I’ll ever have to offer. Too bad that they wouldn’t be interested in my soul along with my eyes, tongue and teats.

What is in the dirt. What lies beyond the moon. What do the worms leave behind.

No more lights in my eyes. No more music in my ears. No more peach fuzz under my finger tips. Only that last day of summer. Until then, I’ll stow away in my heart a sweet memory of you, to recall in the final and fading moments of the dusk before the dark. And I will go knowing that I have not been for nothing.

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About magnumturtle

I write fiction.
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