literature

The Death of a Sparrow

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Literature Text

"What's wrong?" he asked.

There were ten thousand answers to that. A million. They all rushed up my throat in a chaotic hurry to present themselves first, and stuck there as a result.

I tried to cry out.

I only cried; Irony hurts sometimes.

Receiving nothing, he assumed 'nothing' to be the answer.

And he walked away, leaving me behind to choke on my own unannounced wrongness.
It's been a rough evening.

But perhaps it's best to be left alone with words.
© 2014 - 2024 wispofcloud
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