Humans have developed methods for dealing with things that are unpleasant.

Push whatever it may be aside, glance at it every now and then when we gather the gumption, only to prod it back into the corner.

Justify our negligence with weak excuses.

Deny that we can do anything.

Deny our right or reason for involvement.

Deny the embers oxygen to ignite into a flame.

What is really worthy of our efforts?

The influence of passion stifled.

Let it be.

For now, we will let it be.

– RJ




I stray from the worn out routes,

Only to fall back into place.

Repetition wears a curve. You end up where you were.

More ways than one branch beneath my heels.

It’s a false start. Split are the decisions that inspire pause.

I only think about the lanes that I would like to tour.

Tracing the lines that were drawn before.

– RJ

Writing Challenge/Practice

Prompt- The hallway was silent.

Time allotted for challenge- 15 min



The hallway is silent. The shadows huddled in the corners are black and concealing. I run my fingers over the switch and flip on the light.

Nothing. I lean against the wall, my body prickling with sweat and nervousness.

Thinking back to the point when I was jerked from my sleep, I am positive I heard the mechanics of a door turning. The excess of bolts and deadlocks mocking my supposed assurance. How could I think for a moment that any action could bar him?

My bare feet sink into the carpet as I pad over to the end of the hall. The weight of my revolver lends strength to my illusion of safety.

I see him. His body is draped casually across the lumpy couch. I lightly touch my weapon but decide to leave it there. Adjusting my shirt to disguise the movement, I meet his gaze.

His eyes are locked on me. “No need for violence tonight.” I curse myself for my careless gesture. He sees everything.

I glare at the mask that shields his face. Coward.

Despite his words, he is cradling a gun of his own, turning it over in his gloved hands. I wait for him to relay the instructions. “Leave this,” he draws a small envelope from his jacket and places it on the coffee table, “in his office.” I go over and pick it up. I nod and he leaves as quickly as he came.

Soon after his hateful form is out of sight I sink to the floor. As I grip the table leg I can feel the beginnings of a fever break across my skin. The paper crumples under the pressure of my constricting fist.

I glance at the front of the sealed envelope and as usual the victim’s name and address is scrawled in red ink in the corner.

– RJ


Feel free to participate or critique. :)


Credit for prompt idea-