The Skies Are Lighted With Lamps #14 (A part of my novel)

As Deo sat at the table, Shelly cleared the dishes, removing the children’s, then his.  He eased back into his chair, as if to allow her sufficient room to reach his plate, and then, just kept looking at her.  Shelly could not remember her husband being this quiet, but under the circumstances, she continued doing the same.

After a few more minutes, Deo sluggishly got up from the chair and made his way to a small wooden window in the kitchen; a window he recalled building just before his incarceration.  A gentle smile enveloped his face, as the nights air struck him.  Reaching into his pocket, he took out a pack of cigarettes and reached over to a box with matches near the kitchen sink.  He shook it, listening to the sticks crashing into each other.  He then placed a cigarette to his lips, lighted the match and leaned into it.  There was a silence, so much so that he could feel it in the air, heavy.  He looked from the corner of his eyes at his wife’s piercing gaze.  He recognized that much had changed since he was gone.  He blew the match out and crumpled the cigarette in his hand, but the pack he returned to his pants pocket.  He chewed on his thumb nail for a few seconds.  Deo looked at the thumb, while playing around with a piece of the nail in his mouth.  Then spitting it through the window, he scratched against his two day old beard.

Copyright © 2017 David Alexian

All rights reserved.

The Skies Are Lighted With Lamps #10 (A part of my novel)

About one hour had passed so far.  The time though seemed longer.  In a cage, time goes slowly.  He became used to this.  But just sitting there in the kitchen, Deo began to feel time itself had stopped.  Although he was in his house, he felt as though he was invisible to the home.  The white and gray striped shirt and khaki three quarter pants was all he came home with.  This suit was one of the best he had acquired, keeping clean and worn only on special occasions.  Out here, it is just cloths.  Cloths if sold could purchase maybe a cigarette or a drink of rum and nothing else.  On the islet, men could lose their life for accidentally staining possessions like these.

 

Copyright © 2017 David Alexian

All rights reserved.

The Skies Are Lighted With Lamps #7 (A part of my novel)

Deo was not going to run, he was waiting, but something else was on his mind.  He was playing over the moments leading up to the incident. But after the scream, the explosion and the smell of sulfur burning, everything else was a blur.  One fire fly zipped continuously in front of him, as he sat on the front step of the house.  The little insect was spelling something before his eyes.  It looked like a name.  But to a man with little time counting against his freedom, he could not make sense of it.  As quickly as Deo entered one of the cars, the door closed and away he went.  He did not look back to see his family, his neck was arched as he peered through the windscreen. ………….

 

Copyright © 2017 David Alexian

All rights reserved.

# 7 DESERTING THIS DAY OF HURT

A gentle breeze caressed her face, her palms and feet moist.  She knew why she was there, but still she felt out of place.  From time to time she treated herself to something nice.  But this, this wasn’t the type of life she was accustomed too, not now, and certainly not before.

“DESERTING THIS DAY OF HURT”

Copyright © 2016 Annmarie Deen & David Alexian

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