just a sunday night

So I was driving this evening and I noticed a thing I have noticed a hundred times before, a thing you all know and on occassion you all notice. The moon, atop a skyline, (which coincidentally happens to be the name of the road I reside upon), and I realized that for a brief moment I was literally on top of the world, so to speak. I was on top of the only world I have ever known. Not many can say that they have lived in the same town for the duration of their entire life, but I can. I fail to embrace the beauty I am accustomed to at times. This is a beautiful though tragic place to call home. The town is large enough that the conveniences we take full granted of are available round the clock, but the serenity of the surroundings is bypassed for the muck of the days end. We are slaves and sheep for the system. The same system we can never call our own. We work the daily grind and produce less than satisfactory fundage for the tasks and still continue to dream that there are far better places than here. I am among those masses. Truth be known, we all are.

But alas, I am drunk on a Sunday evening, lucky to make it home safely again, missing my kids for they are at their father's, and dreaming of finer places than here. A cigarette burns quickly in the ashtray to my left, where it is always kept, reminding me of the life we pass through too quickly, and forgetting that I have any feeling at all. I fear it is time for the slumber that has evaded me so l give in and fold to the weanesses we all suffer and say, "Goodnight, all," and pass out to the tune of absolute nothing, alone and mislead, to figure out why these are the things I detest.

The end

He startled at the image the lifeless woman on the street. He rushed over to offer assistance but others had tried and urged him to move along. It was no longer necessary. Surprisingly she had very little blood leaking from her body. Still the warm fluidity of the fresh kill felt human. He wondered if there would be a man, a lover, a best friend to miss this sweet angel. He then thanked God it wouldn't be him.

Reprieve came with the silence of the end of a life that was supported by tears and sorrows from those around her who never their kept promises and refused to consider her fragile little soul. She was now lifted up beyond the clouds so they can no longer cover the sun from her face. A happiness not experienced before would be welcome. He wouldn't miss her. The mark he claimed she made on him was faded and forgotten before he ever reached the river. She felt no sorrow for him. He deserved every bit of what she gave him. He would never doubt that.

She slipped away to better things that awaited her. The service was beautiful though solemn. No one came to say goodbye, but she said it anyway. Birds sang a lovely song that day in a melody unlike any other. The trees bowed their limbs in remembrance. And the gravediggers took extra care of this one, leaving a flower for the one they did not know. The clock struck noon and strangers moved on. It was always for the best.