The road home
The hardest part
had been gathering all of the shells. The empty ice cream bucket she
stole from under her moms kitchen sink could only hold so much. Over and over she lined up every last shell
she had found in a little self-made road she could follow back home. Really, it was the regular road that the
construction people made but the trail of shells still counted as its’ own.
It wasn’t for anyone else. Just for her brother. He doesn’t come home anymore and she thinks maybe he
just forgot his way back. She’s making a road back home.
Walking back up to her house she came up to the beach across the street where seagulls would drop all
their empty mussel shells in piles that clung to the sidewalk. She knelt down to sort through which ones were
good and which ones had been stepped on and crushed. When she turned back to look at her house the clouds
hung so low that if she were to stand on the roof, they would probably be close enough to touch. Everything felt
heavy and the sky seemed heavy too. This would probably be the last trip. The path she made was already up to
the walkway of the house where her brother was staying.
by Kelsey Sparrow
Laying down the last of the shells she thought about how her brother had changed since he left. When she laid
down the last mussel shell onto the front stoop she hoped he would know it was her who did this. She went home
knowing there was nothing else to do than wait. Wait and sleep. As morning came there was a nervous excitement
in the pit of her belly. She raced out to balcony facing the driveway. As she looked down from the second story
she froze.
Every single shell had been crushed.
Acrylic on canvas, Untitled, by Kelsey Sparrow, 2013.
The Road Home, read by Francine Cunningham, 2013.
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mixed tribez
mixed tribez