Journal 9 - Broken

The road was long and the gravel splitting his
bare feet, dry in the July heat. Each pebble felt
like a burr in his toes, each fried step fired pain
signals to his waterless brain – fully aware of where
his bitter feet were leading. He cursed and flicked
his dry-sucked cigarette off to the side of the
road into the crisp leaves of the forest; that wasn't
his problem. The wind blew the last drag of smoke
into his eyes so he squinted and relaxed,
then kept walking and cursing. She left him with
his shorts and shirt but everything else she took.
As she drove away – with her friend driving, her in
the back seat, head turned – she didn't smile or
mock or even flip him the bird. A tear slid down
her cheek, leaving tiny cakes of mud with the dust
on her face, like a dirty rivulet. He watched her as she
drove away and watched her try to not wipe the
tear from her face. He turned his head and spat
on the ground and then watched her motionless
until he could no longer see her. He glanced up at
the whiteness of the sun, shook his head and
started his painful hot walk into town, tying
his shirt around his head and lighting his last
cigarette. There wasn't a cloud in the sky as
he walked.


2.15.09