found drama

There is no narrative, I am left with only three images.  The path is a garden path.  Flagstones form a jagged path that weaves in and out of some Civil War-era garden.  You can tell that it is summer because all of the trees and bushes are green but none of their blossoms are left.  A structure is tucked away behind some of the bushes.  A gazebo?  It is very narrow and has white columns and looks much taller than it actually is.  The antique bookstore is nothing more than it sounds like.  Sparse shelves reek of musty pages and cracked leather bindings.  The shelves form a ring around the perimeter but no free-standing shelves divide the space.  The boy terrifies me.  His face is calm but his eyes are a thundercloud.  He pushes the man down, backs him into a corner.  He raises the long, curved knife, and plunges it into the man’s chest to extract the heart.

About Rob Friesel

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