Headlights By Luke Frayling

Bars of light sweep past. There is the stench of cheap beer, and the lines in the road are disconnected, crisscrossing like tangled thread. His body sways, footprints in zigzags of shadow.

Her words were bitter and bristling — dismissive. All the pieces float around him. A shredded kite, swirling into the wind. He grasps, but the pieces are too small. Too distant. Transitory, and soon to be lost.

His feet move again, across those lines. Those lines that don’t connect up. He staggers towards it. The sound and the light. Grasping again.

The blaring of a horn. A prism of light, blooming from a monstrous face.

© 2014 Luke Frayling

Luke Frayling is a twenty-two year old tech support rep in the English county of Kent: The Garden Of England. He wants to one day take his passion for writing to another level.

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