Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Hopscotch

Posted by Casey McCormick at 12:05 AM
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1 comments:

  1. “One, two, buckle my shoe.”

    The rain fell on my head, one slow, miserable drop at a time.

    “Three, four, open the door.”

    The clouds suffocated what was left of the sun.

    “Five, six, pick up some sticks.”

    The voices of children laughing in the distance were muted by own introspection.

    “Seven, eight, kill someone you hate.”

    The pigeons circled overhead, their shadow wrapping around me like a pre-emptive shroud.

    “Nine, ten, do it again.”

    The past twenty-four hours burned in my throat.

    “One, two, buckle my shoe.”

    A drop of rain hit one of my eyes, a splash of cold that stung and made my toes curl.

    “Three, four, open the door.”

    A dark cloud rose from the horizon to take the sun’s last, grasping breath.

    “Five, six, pick up some sticks.”

    A group of children dropped their jump rope and began to quarrel like barnyard chickens.

    “Seven, eight, kill someone you hate.”

    But I hate so very many people.

    “Nine, ten, do it again.”

    My weary fingers wrapped around the handle of the still bloody knife in my pocket.

    “One, two, buckle my shoe.”

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