#193 Death To Life

by Luke Beling

Over a star-less town in a charcoal storm I watched a man walk home. The rain traveled fast and furiously onto his daylight tarp.

He broke left on Charity Street, a quiet road invisible to burly cars and their smoky trails. On the cobblestone path a stranger came near and offered an umbrella, able and steady to the tide of violent intentions. Water moved softer, now only trickles on the horizon of his muddy boots. Slippery streets ended at the entrance of a colossal gate opening to Felicity Hill, where the man walked forward like an army advancing on a wave of crime.

One house stood alone near a tree in the night with a candle inside to render a small glow to a family of three. A husband, wife, and small child swayed with the fire over a meal giving as the sun. No sound could be heard, no sight could be seen, but for laughter and smiles in the gloom. On the edge of the green towards the end of his journey a grave lay uncovered and marked. The tombstone read:

“The secret to life is to live in a world alive to the plans of your heart.”

He stared deeply into brown earth and cast his coat and umbrella low. The moon punctured dark clouds and its glimmer gave vision to behold. He recognized Agape bridge over the hill, a stretch of solid iron aloft a swirling river, where his final steps would lead unto his home.