alienation and the big celebration about winning the basketball championship
fiction
edward w pritchard
Alienation is a hollow chest and a missing heart. No one hands a dripping umbrella to you after a sudden spring rainstorm and leaning shining jet black umbrellas never leave glistening slick puddles of welcoming warm rainfall across villages near the tributaries of fertile river valleys. The flowers don't grow at night and the vines that hang over a hundred foot from the leaning collapsing trees were born by spontaneous generation beginning to droop and die before they were randomly created.
Alienation is over a million people not going to the big celebration about winning the basketball championship and no one buying to save the memorial newspaper about the once in the lifetime victory over the up state rivals.
Alienation is a hollow heart and a whirlwind inside the chest from the sound of raindrops at four AM on the rusting car. Alienation is no blanket across the shoulders during a freezing Spring while watching the buffalo disappear and the iron horse race coast to coast after the time is gone and the Place is missing. Alienation is holes in the barb wire fences that tear and scar delicate skin and jolt the forgetting of unrecorded occurrences by unknown descendants.
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