timbcbp

[timbcbp]

Thought about you again, saw Jack tonight and he mentioned Scotland. It’s crazy how just the mention of the country you’re in brings you to mind. I think it’s been long enough of us apart that I shouldn’t have this sort of reaction but, here I am, made to think of you. Forever, somehow, thinking of you.

[timbcbp]

I was born to swim in murky waters

To swallow great lungfuls of air

My clumsy fumbling fingers transformed

To clasp, to claw, to snare

The land has never welcomed me

Never held me close and filled my ears

I was born to lie in wait beneath water tension

And snap at the hands of those to came near

[timbcbp]

The roar of the truck drew the entirety of the main street out of their houses and places of work. It was parked in the centre of the road, no care given for the hazard it created. The shouting followed soon after, chased by the resounding crack of buckshot. The slamming of doors heralded his departure from his house and entry into the street stage. Her shouts, screams following on his coattails. Well dressed he was not. Boxers, socks, and shame. He looked to be sobbing. She slammed his door closed and joined him on his death stumble. She’s not screaming anymore. She’s silently cocking the gun. She’s fury incarnate. He’s fallen, knees cut, hands shredded. She stalks towards him. There’s more than anger in her; pain, resignation, delight. He’s gotten up and is running as fast as his legs can take him. He lost a sock at some point and the other half is slipping off, flopping uselessly, impeding him. She shoots at him, aim true. He falls and doesn’t get up. She calls him a coward under her breath and says a prayer she knows will go unheard. If there’s a god, he doesn’t care about the desperate plights of hurt women.