Continued From Previous...

I knew I had a home. That I could remember. There was a flower box in the front. How long had flowers been growing there? I didn’t know. I didn’t plant them. The siding was a dull grayish-blue, except where the paint was peeling away from the wood. Whenever I had people over for the first time they always tripped on the top step up to the porch. For some reason that step was a few inches taller than the other three.

I’d been meaning to replace the worn doormat. The corner was torn and the green fake grass had begun to wear off in two spots near the middle where visitors would wipe their feet before coming in from whatever inclement weather Mother Nature had shrugged off her shoulders that day.

I was always greeted with a strong, musky scent when I opened the front door after coming home from work. It wasn’t unpleasant, though. It was familiar.

Something I Wrote Earlier Today

I don’t even know how I ended up in the river. Or exactly how long I’d been there. It was dark when I opened my eyes, which was a clue. I hung from my seatbelt. I didn’t remember putting my seatbelt on. I didn’t even remember driving into the canyon. Or even getting into my car, for that matter.

Water had begun to pool on the passenger side of the car. That’s what woke me up. The frigid water lapped up against my right wrist, which swayed just above where my fingertips brushed the broken glass of my car’s windows.

There was a steady drip of blood coming from someplace on my body, maybe more than one place. Each warm drop, black in the moonlight, became abstract art for just a moment before disappearing into the dark water.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I felt the distinct urge to move. I envisioned myself unbuckling, kicking out the windshield, and dragging myself to somewhere warm. I envisioned it again, this time going up through the door. I envisioned it several times more, each time slightly differently from the time before.

Finally I moved.