As a new writing exercise I recently started wikipedia-ing random articles and taking a keyword and writing a 200 word… story? Poem? Entry? Whatever. If you’re interested check them out after the jump.


We stare blankly into the sky. Say goodbye to the ground. Kiss our thumbs and place them on the wall. We have no choice. A world destroyed from consumption. Plagued by population. The children weep, the mother’s cry and the father’s pray. Shoveled into a pod the size of a bus. The white walls designed to comfort only breed a sterilized fear of the beyond. Our new home, a mystery. Forced away by disease, war, and heat. Our skin still scarred from the sun. A young boy stares blankly and then cries. Questions all around and not an answer in sight. I miss my couch and Monday night football. No pets allowed. The lights dim and we remember everything we’re about to leave. The noises get louder. Crying. Screaming. Praying. Sobbing. I miss my binge cereal habit. The sound catches us all off guard. A large burst signals our fate. The tears well. The cabin shakes. I miss my dog. I miss my books. We feel the rocket lift. The crying stops. The praying stops. The sobbing stops. Nothing but silence. The air is still. The countdown begins. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Blast off.

It’s not that I can’t read it. I would just rather not. The map leads somewhere. It tells me where to go. Everything is planned and perfect. I need the mistakes. To make it better. I can’t go there. Not yet. I haven’t found what I’m looking for. No map will point me there. No trail can lead me back. The journey is my own.

I walk past the lake. Gleaming with a darkness. The crickets sing me a song. I tell them I’m not lost. Just on a stroll. I think they know better though. They coyotes howl. Piercing the night sky. The moon shining a silver light on me. Something to guide my way. Questions flood my mind when the night goes silent. The crickets wait for the answers. I have none to give them.

I take out my map. Torn edges and sun bleached roads. I don’t stare for directions, but for a sign. Anything. A mad man. Asking a map to point the way through the night. The map stares back blankly. Like an inanimate object should. There are no answers here. The crickets begin to sing again. The coyotes are howling and I’m still lost.


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