Short Piece of a Piece

(Date unknown –from the sounds of the writing, I would say this is probably something from my mid-twenties.)

“It’s a wonder we are still alive,” Jean cried as she lay, covered with soot and cuts dripping blood, near the railroad tracks.

She was once Caucasian, but now looked a new ethnicity of black and crimson.

“Jimmy,” she called out as she slowly raised herself on one elbow and tried to look around. Her eyes were blurred from small pebbles lodged in them as well as her left eye being swollen to the size of a small fist. Her vision, the little that she had left, was tainted a light shade of wine from the blood flowing softly like a stream bubbling down the jagged rocks of a short-stack mountainside from her forehead. While the stream ran across her left brow, a new protrusion formed above her eye.

Pebbles

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