Sometimes things just work out, don't they? This month, the pieces I received for open prompt all deal with the inner workings of the mind — its wishes, doubts, fits and reflections. Enjoy.
By Jay Marvin
The old pickup rattled and squeaked like a prison sentence. Frank felt down. He
wanted right the woman to share his bed.
Sixty miles from Twenty Nine Palms, Frank saw the engine was boiling. Frank sprung from the cab. He smelled a noxious odor clawing the desert air. The thermostat was dead. He didn't have one to fix it.
Sitting, his knees drawn up and back against the truck, he buried his head in his hands. Big rigs blasted by in swirls of dust and sand. He needed help. However, he had no one to call.
It was his fault.
He kept things to himself. He knew many people, but he'd shared little.
Then, without warning, in the still of the night, a bolt of white, hot, luminous explosion hit the desert floor. A young woman locked her eyes on his. Frank's limbs shook. She reached in her dress, produced a brand new choke.
"What in the world?" he said talking to himself.
"Quiet, Frank," she purred. “Fix the truck and take me home."
After thirty-five years in radio behind the microphone, a vicious disease made Jay Marvin retire. Now he has turned to writing. His first novel, Punk Blood, was published by FC2. He also has three books of poetry out. You can follow the life of "Frank" at http://www.leadbullet.wordpress.com .