02/09/2007 Image – “Preso” by Nany Mata
The buggy swerved into the drive all hell to skelter, driven from hell to somewhere hotter and with miles to go before they sleep, these motherless sons of whores that plague me.
Hello, Samaritans, can I help you?
Mum said that I had to be back for tea, which is just enough time to get to Mars and back.
The light on the hilltop draws them. They move, in their swaying, ungainly way, up the incline and towards the beacon, drawn by its uncustomary light.
The stories were many and legendary, told and retold to every wide-eyed and open-mouthed youngster in town since the end of the Civil War.
Whatever it was she wanted to tell him couldn’t be told over the phone.