Her bright red coat covered her long beautiful body. It swayed equally with the slow and steady wind. Confidence radiating smoothly off her like the beams of color. Into the yellow cab she went leaving behind a trace of velvet flowers.

S. L. Cline

The writings were in the mirror. Too curious, I’m triggered. But the messages are never clear.

Am I crazy? Could they betray me? My emotions are hazy.

Silent whispers roam the halls. I heard my name being called. I felt my feet being mauled.

Then a man in his forties, spoke about his quarries. Then I told him my worries. A knock buckled my knees. He said, “ Ignore thee.” I couldn’t let it be. It may just be me. A part you don’t see. You’re stuck, can’t flee. And just like that, even the dead tell stories.

S. L. Cline