Not A Sunrise

I can’t see a sunrise

Without seeing the sunset

My eyes can’t see the birth

Without my mind seeing the death


By mid morning it comes

Slowly rising to wake

And by noon it has summoned

The peak of our strength


By afternoon it curves

Downward to rest

A grand culmination

Of fast fleeting breaths


When that flame glow peeks

Just once before the end

And fades out to quench

The fire of life we tend


And in our final moment

As we bleed into night

Our essence of being

Coalesces with the light

Birth

I was born twice

The first of the regular sort
Spectacular in its significance
And ordinary in its occurrence
That any life has felt
But cannot remember

The second of a fantastic sort
Where if the world were aflame
We may have danced in its wake
For even the air seemed to embrace me
In all its eminence
Never as breath-taking as she

I have died once

Of the worse sort
Where in the world’s ashes
I may have wept
For even the air has left me
In all its sustenance
Never as heart-breaking as she

Novel Snippet #1

I apologize for my extended absence. Lately I have been quite busy with a few other things, including my summer project of sorts: a novel. I’m about 2,000 words in now, so there’s no turning back now! I’d like to share a little snippet with you, and I’d love to get a bit of feedback if you would be so kind. Thank you, and stay tuned for more.

By 6:30 AM on the first of my last days of childhood I am already crying. It’s not a real cry in the sense that there’s no tears and sobbing, although I probably could “actually” cry if I wanted to. The few teachers’ cars and the light dusting of snow covering the parking lot wouldn’t mind if I broke down into tears, but I still don’t actually cry. Instead, I internally cry, which in many ways is much worse than actually crying. When you actually cry, you release some of the emotions and fears and whatever else that are making you cry, but when you internally cry all of that just builds up until one day you just explode or something. I haven’t gotten there yet, but I probably will pretty soon.

Copyright © Collin Griffin 2016

Where the Stars Go

Where do the stars go?
When the sun teases the horizon
A warm orange
Chasing the night blues

Where do the stars go?
When people fill the streets
And the avenues
Like blood cells
Giving our city life

Where do the stars go?
When the clouds sigh
Brisk tears and dreary skies
Sodden and sadden

Where do the stars go?
When the life is gone
For better or worse
All is still
And night comes silent

There the stars go
When they’re needed; I know

Fears To Be

Waves rock me slowly to sleep
As the skies begin to weep
Their mist of tears caress my cheek
For the condolences they wish to seek

Wearily I rest my head
Upon the coarse floorboards of my bed
I shut my eyes and try to bait
The sleep I anxiously await

But there is no slumber
When stranded at sea
There is only a number
Of fears to be

Still

She laid impossibly still
On sterile sheets
And last bits of will

The lights are too bright
For this vacuum of time
And the walls are too white
For this black scene

Monotonous beeping
Coming from somewhere
Piercing weeping
Coming from everywhere

I should be crying
And bawling as well
But my insides are dying
Just like herself

She laid impossibly still
On sterile sheets
And last bits of will

The Young Professional

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Daniel did not understand art, and the painted cow statues that stared him down from across the street were certainly no exception. He did not know why the beefy creatures were painted with flowers and leaves and other flora. He had always assumed they were some kind of vegetarian protest. As a protest to their protest, the young professional ate an 100% beef chili dog once a week while staring down the cows from the bench outside of his office in New York City. It had seemingly little effect on the cows.

As he chowed down on his delectable chili dog on one muggy New York day, a young woman sat on the opposite side of the bench. Daniel saw that she had an undeniably artsy aura about her, but was also undeniably beautiful, and in that moment the young professional quickly decided that he would learn to understand art.


“The Young Professional” is my submission the 59th FFfAW Challenge (Check it out here). It is composed of 150 words. Special thanks to SWritings for the challenge photo.

If you enjoyed this story, don’t forget to like, comment your thoughts, and subscribe for more of my short stories. You could even share this blog with your pals if you wanted to spread the joy of reading! Thank you and have an awesome day!

Canyon

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The drive back from the canyon was a quiet one. We were almost entirely defeated at this point; it had been nearly nine months since the sixteen-year-old girl had gone missing and all we had so far was a plastic disposable camera. We drove about 30 minutes before we found a film development place. I parked the car and told Johnson I’d be back in a few minutes. He flashed me a thumbs-up and continued playing some game on his phone.

There was almost no one in the photo center, just me and the attendant. I plopped my detective badge down on the counter and handed the guy the camera.
“Police business,” I said.
“Whatever man, it’ll be 45 minutes” he muttered.
I left and grabbed a much needed lunch with Johnson. We walked back into the photo center to find the kid looking very shocked.
“That’s some morbid stuff dude,” he said as he handed me the envelope.
I tore open the envelope and flicked through the photos.

Trees. Birds. Deer. A Cave. A teenager’s corpse.


“Canyon” is my submission the 58th FFfAW Challenge (Check it out here). It is composed of 175 words.

If you enjoyed this story, don’t forget to like, comment your thoughts, and subscribe for more of my short stories. You could even share this blog with your pals if you wanted to spread the joy of reading! Thank you and have an awesome day!

Photo Fragments

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On the oak end table, next to the big, plush, leather couch in this living room, there was a photo frame. Inside the frame was a picture of a man, in beige camouflage with a huge black dog. This man was my dad, but I would have never known. He was stationed in Afghanistan before I was four years old, and he never came back. I was never told why; there was no one to tell me. This man was just a fragment. Fragments of a dad I never knew. Fragments of a mom who never cared about me. Fragments of a stepfather who beat me incessantly. Fragments of a sister who had leukemia and died at twelve. Fragments of a brother addicted to heroin and apathy. Everything was a fragment, smashed to pieces, and it all got taped together to make me.

I was broken.


 

“Photo Fragments” is my submission the 57th FFfAW Challenge (Check it out here). It is composed of 143 words.

If you enjoyed this story, don’t forget to like, comment your thoughts, and subscribe for more of my short stories. You could even share this blog with your pals if you wanted to spread the joy of reading! Thank you and have an awesome day!