December 9, 2010
By Devan Barela BRONZE, Denver, Colorado
Devan Barela BRONZE, Denver, Colorado
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Cigarette burns manifest his clothing,
they smolder through to his chest
the way water stains creep across the tattered ceiling.
Dry, cracking lips stutter
his most reoccuring and empty phrase,
"I-I-I lo- -"
The strike of the shovel cuts him off.
I swore to myself,
that second only, that would be the last time
I ever stood up to him,
the only time.
My heart beats
a dull thud in my chest.
I pause my strides,
"Calm down."
Those two words spill like water over a dam.
I stop.
I think.
Stifle, but then...
I run.

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