Semi-Daily Scribbles

Zoë found that markers and mileposts do not always point the way home. The landscape changed as soon as she pictured where her heart wished to go. The bucolic setting of the churchyard evaporated and was replaced by a swift moving river choked with debris. She stared down into the dizzying black current and made out paving stones just beneath the surface. Nothing but churning, racing water behind and beyond. She stuck out a foot and hoped to make contact with solid matter. A perilous game combining hopscotch and leapfrog kept Zoë’s mind and body busy until a garbage scow blocked her way. Zoë frowned at the prospect of having come to the end of her red ball of thread. With desolation in her wake, and certainty of death on the horizon, Zoë leaped aboard the rotting heap and clung to the refuse with all the strength left in her. The rapids flashed in shades of silver 100 yards ahead. Turbulent eddies threatened to capsize the floating mountain of filth as Zoë cursed the tranquil sky above the river’s roar.

“Aww, c’mon! How many times do I have to die already? Love is no excuse for this mess. Do you hear me?!”