When I opened my new CD, I found a note inside: “Help! I’m being held an artistic prisoner by my label and my teenage fan base.”
Tag: prisoner
Fiction: Prisoners
Horace knew he was being a coward and berated himself for it. But the thought of what he was leaving behind set his feet moving toward London’s navy docks.
“An’ where are you going at this early hour, young man?” a man’s voice boomed.
Horace spun to his right.
“Shush, Evan! People are trying to sleep.”
“Notably the people you’re sneaking away from,” the old man said.
Horace grimaced but didn’t contradict Evan Smith. “That’s none of your concern.” He started walking up the street again and wasn’t surprised to find Evan tagging along.
Fiction: Just Two Minutes
Rona trudged home from the bus stop after another long day at the diner. It had been the usual crowd of morons and misfits, plus the handsy guy from Newark who kept grabbing her ass whenever she turned away; she kept turning away, though, afraid of what he might grab if she didn’t.
She walked to the front yard of her home and leaned against a tree. She wanted a smoke, but she had only one cigarette left, and she was saving it for just before she went to bed; she wanted one smoke and two minutes of peace to wrap up the typically dull, frantic, miserable day.
Rona pushed herself away from the tree and walked up the steps. She opened the door and closed and locked it behind her.
“I’m home, E.J.,” she called.
She listened for movement but heard nothing. She walked back toward the kitchen, which was dark