(Continues from Lost – micro fiction)
There are a million stories in this city, but only one can save me.
Time runs red down an alley where life spilled.
Shell casings shine in dawn’s radiant eye
as a soul flies from the criminal swill
damned never to know why he had to die.
Blue lights strobe as a detective arrives
To Protect and serve, crack this case he strives
It’s not my body lying there. I misplaced my flesh, but I forgot when. Time has no meaning when you’re bodiless. Its ebb and flow carry the mass of humanity forward in a commuter crunch reminiscent of hell and leave me standing unmoved amid the sea of headlights.
The detective dictates notes into his cell, and I follow him around the crime scene. Keeping busy keeps me from going insane. So I listen to his scattershot thoughts and take in the body lying on the asphalt. Young, face blown off making an ID impossible–maybe use dental records? He’s still got a few teeth hanging on.
Detective No Name squats down and uses a pen to turn over a rock. Underneath a scrap of flyer’s caught. Block letters announce a band playing at some place called Rocks. Maybe I’ll find the story to set me free at a concert Friday next. Or maybe not.
I stare at the flier twisting in the wind and when it takes off so do I. We’re both detritus left by a careless hand.
For OctPoWRiMo, 31 poems in 31 days–all part of one story. Watch me do it.
All 31 prompts are pictured below.
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