StevenKauk

A Place That Never Forgets This place is to me a lonely ocean. Its fields are like open waters, tall grass like waves on a breeze, white-capped with litter washing on the shore of the stable floor. Its boards are rot with neglect and creak with tired sighs. Once a chorus of sounds, the nicker and whinny of horses, the baying of goats, the cluck of chickens; now it rings with silence, it hurts my ears, that nothing can be heard there. The tack room door hangs from it's hinge, painting the face of merciless time. Through the door, an empty room filled only with cobwebs and dark shadows. Above, a fan blade hangs bent, disrupting the symmetry o

     A Knock at the Door     The floorboard gave a painful whine as I made my way down the stairs. The railing clattered loosely on one end, where the nails were falling out. The carpet was damp in spots, like it always seemed to be, though I barely noticed. I had lived there for years, and my room was on the second floor. I traveled these steps often. It wasn't an open stairway, there was a wall closing it on either side. Like a narrow hallway that happened to go upward. At the bottom they would meet the kitchen, and as I made my way off the last step, I met the kitchen as well.     I had been in my room by myself. My brother was in his

I had a silly thought once. I was running. Stealing a frantic glance behind me I saw his silhouette standing motionless. I wove through my surroundings, everything becoming a river of color streaming past, my adrenaline granting me a temporary feat of inhuman speed, as we only experience in fleeing for our lives. I stopped, allowing the trees to drown me in their shadow, hoping it would suffice to wash my scent from the trail, that is, to hide me from that maniac. I studied the ground as the moon emerged from behind a cloud, ready to mingle with the stars and turn an ear to the wolf. I could admire a statue in that moment; because it was so

Our future Lives, Hang on A thread. Precariously Perched On His fingers, The Man. While he weaves His wicked web We find we are The fly. And we Lament, The death Of choice. Hmm, wait No.. This Is all A clever Lie.

Then my iris was blue waters Calming, ambiance the sound Is lulling, my thoughts disperse. There is only my reflection again. The sun was shining on birds Chirping as the day rose. Content with my self Again, I started new as well.

A shrill scream, a single shriek of terror piercing the calm, still night. Then only the silence, and her heavy breathing, escaping in rhythm with the heaving of her chest. Running. She had been running. From who? She wasn’t sure. But she had been running from someone. That much she knew. She was scared. She knew that too. She looked down at her hands, at the jagged line of dark crimson where she had fallen on a sharp nail in the floorboard. She grasped the folds of her white gown. Not so white now. It was dirty. Deep down she sighed, it had been her mother’s. But that didn’t matter. She tore it. She winced as the cloth rubbed