A Short Story (a short story, of sorts)

    I stare, glare at the black screen through two pieces of plastic glass.  The white too bright to reflect, refract, magnify my muddled words.  Feeling the syllables crawling, scrawling beneath this growing older by the millisecond skin.  Verbal seeds screeching, reaching for the blinding sight of others to inhale, devour, clatter in their respective collective mindscape.  Fading away fingerprints scrolling through digital pages or tips bleeding from flipping sharp paper edges in a frenzy to discover meaning in nonsense and senselessness in moments.  Watering eyes, tears or sweat blurring lines of fictitious reality and really fiction until the happy or not end is reached, achieved.  My voice spent, digits numb from popping letters into place, trying to place the seen from my head onto the dark screen floating in depth, closer than appears but so far from the soul suffocating inside.  Circling the circles surrounding sighing eyes, unable to see what others claim to see inside out.  Inside me within the lines of a short story that may never come to be.

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2024, John L. Harmon 

Thank you for reading or listening to my half-blind words. 

Freak Out, 
JLH 

P.S.  Escape reality through my books available from an Amazon near you…