Lee was tired and thirsty. He had walked for miles. Finally, he came across a small service station. Looking around, he saw an old faucet.
Relieved, Lee gulped the fresh, cold water before filling his canteen. Knowing it would soon be dark, he then quickly packed up.
As Lee passed the station door, a voice called to him. “Can I help you?”
Lee responded, “No, thanks. I just stopped to get some water from the faucet by the fence.”
Laughing, the voice called back, “Hope you ain’t thirsty. That rusty old faucet ain’t worked in years!”
~McGuffy Ann Morris
This kind of writing takes me to a different place than poetry does. Poetry is more concrete and personal to me. This kind of writing is magical in its freedom. I hope you enjoy this glimpse into the proverbial grey area between what is real and what may or may not be.
“My Writeful Heart”:
D= The Drought
F= Final Departure
G= The Guardian
H= The Horologist
L= The Loan
P= Mr. Peabody
Q= The Queen