Fiction: Turning Points #8
He wanted to say the words yesterday, but today, that train has left the station. With it goes any vestige of his multiple attempts to find a new direction. He feels it like a weight descending through his body. It is the accumulated years of trying, the moraine of New Year resolutions relentlessly pushed aside by the force of the ice scouring his heart. It's never worked, making resolutions the night before. It's always the night before. Words, jumbled and morphed into meaningless, unfinished sentences. He tries to force some order to his mind now as he sits on the deck of his rental, a watery Scotch unfinished, his birthday guests long gone. Cold . Remote . Thoughtless. Arrogant . And, for good measure, selfish . Are those words really describing him ? Imperceptibly, a sort of torpor sneaks its way around him. He can't think about that now. Those words. Those stones on which people find their path away from him. The night breeze has an icy bite to it. His body begins to...
