The sun is trying to tell me something.
Not a glint or peer from sleepless
bloodshot eyes but an incalescent
exophthalmic stare only our yellow
dwarf could birth. So, I hang up the
nozzle and hasten towards the Circle K,
wallet drawn, map folded. The scream
I catch is from no TV but my stomach
wailing at the slumped incarnadine
bodies behind the register and liquor
aisle. Visions of the fusillade clog my
dome. The next screams emitted are
outside on the dirt road. Banditos like
sardines in a rusty pickup heading my
way. Run, feet, run. Show daddy why all
those years on the track team mattered.
Robin Ray, formerly of Trinidad & Tobago, currently resides in the historical Victorian seaside town of Port Townsend, WA. Educated in English Composition at Iowa State University, he has seen his works published at Red Fez, Scarlet Leaf Review, Fairy Tale Magazine, Darkest Before the Dawn, Spark, Neologism, and elsewhere.