Thursday, January 30, 2014

The Rusted Horse

It went up in flame. Blazing tendrils licked out of the metal trashcan and coughed embers into the air. Blue waves washed across the coals with patience, waiting for their next firey delight. He threw another piece into the inferno and watched it fall into the peaceful red. The middle of the picture sank behind the edges, the photo curling into a vulnerable ball before it burst into hot light. Tiring of his meditation, the man turned the box over, emptying the rest of the little photos into the make-shift furnace. He couldn't help but watch as her face dissolved twenty three different times. Long dark fingers dropped the box into the fire and footsteps sounded through the alley as the tall man walked away, leaving his ceremonial farewell to get back to work at the Rusted Horse.

How do you measure a year?

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