(Continues from Flowing)
Waiting, wanting, willing–I stood transfixed.
Time ticked by in slow seconds clawing me.
But no ghost arose. My lone state is fixed.
Still, I stand, shamelessly hoping for some
Non-corporeal company to come.
Maybe they had. Against the lightening sky, two shadows intertwined. A car door slammed breaking my reverie. Brake lights flared as the good detective shifted his car into drive.
“Hey man, shouldn’t you call in the crack up?”
The squeal of tires drowned out my question. Lights strobed, and sirens wailed, painting me as the vehicle pulled out. My hand was still trapped inside the trunk. So I went for another ride, and the wind whipped me for my flippancy.
I deserved it. People might have died in the crash. But why stage an accident here? What was the point? And why had my new friend Detective Name Unknown fled the scene without calling it in? Scenes from cop dramas mixed with fragments of memories, but both faded out before I could glean any info other than the obvious.
A roaring in my ears prevented anymore thinking. The car cornered on two wheels flinging my body into oncoming traffic. I phased through a compact sports coupe and its coffee slurping driver and for a moment, we merged.
Coffee spilled on our leg scalding us. Our thoughts ran in tight circles. Must get to work before the big boss. Why’d he have to pick today to stop in? Doesn’t he know how busy I am? Numbers shuffled. Dealt card-style by an invisible hand, they landed on a grid. We separated in a scream of agony when our two rides diverged down different roads. Hanging by one arm, I caught flashes of two silhouettes sky dancing against a lightening sky. One of their wings glinted in the rising sun.
“I will find my story, the frame where I’m free.” I shook my free fist to punctuate my vow. If my mysterious companions heard, they ignored me. Who was I but an insignificant ghost?
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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