He sat, back against the wall, bouncing a small rubber ball against the tile of the wall in front of him. The ball bounced, and bounced again, a pendulum of awkward thunk's keeping his mind occupied.
There was nothing he found better to do, he thought, than to just sit here. Drain his mind from the day, watch this ugly, 25-cent rubber ball bounce against the broken linoleum.
The bathroom door was barred shut, but his mind still remained on full alert as he sat in silence. It wasn't something he planned on doing; it was learned behavior, and after months of running, sitting down felt wrong.
He felt vulnerable, scared even, and every once in a while he'd feel at his waist for the hunting knife holstered there, just to check; it had to be there, it always had to be. In case.
Boonk.
The ball bounces back into his hands and he slings it right back.
Boonk.
The doorknob jiggles lightly.
A sudden "Let me in!" from the other side of the door. You see, after spending a good portion of a year running through the radiation-faded rubble of the city, one learns to be cautious when someone knocks on their door. Most often, as he had learned, it was not the USPS, nor was it the notorious Girl Scouts of America. Typically it was raiders, and raiders showed zero mercy to anyone who didn't have duct tape skin grafts and a blood-stained moose horn strapped to their head.
Despite this, today he felt lucky.
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Poetry, One-Shots, and Song Lyrics
PoetrySpare change texts. Writing stories takes a lot, and I tend to forget them. I very rarely finish anything. Poems are a lot easier. Here are some songs and poems I've written. If you want to use any lyrics I write, feel free. No credit required, for...
