by Gabriel C., 16
The car turns into the driveway, and the engine stops.
I take my first step in this desolate place. Crunch.
My foot compresses thousands of tiny pebbles.
I look down and feel the tremors release from their unanswered
squirms. They let out collaborative screeches; call me “tyrant.”
I shut my eyes and plug my ears. I don’t let it get to me.
Slowly releasing my foot, the tremors cease.
I take the next step. The onslaught revives,
but this time, I don’t stop to listen. I pound my feet
over any pebble I can before reaching the door, letting
the voices drown behind me. Serenity, at last. I slip
my hand in my pocket, only to find air. Only to find air!
I whip around
and see the keys slumped in a cavity of pebbles.
I don’t want to return. It is too late to make amends.
The sky blackens and the moon glimmers.
I wait for an answer, but all I feel is a salient breeze
wrapping around immovable bones, running its fingers
through my hair, scattering pebbles around my feet.
With each blink, they grow. Pebbles to stones.
Stones to rocks. Rocks to boulders.
New York City, New York
Bridge Ink 