Puncture

When things got really bad, got to where he couldn’t take it, he’d take off in the woods behind the house. Walking any which way, looping back, circling around trees, until he became disoriented. And then, if he found a suitable spot, he’d gather the fallen pine needles into one large pile. He’d cut branches from fallen trees, drag logs, and then lay down, pulling the boughs over him.

And he’d stay that way, hidden, immobile, looking no more out-of-place than any other twiggy forest mound. And he’d try release the pressure built up inside of him, before he burst.

Prompt courtesy of the Daily Post.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Puncture

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s