Yesteryear Fiction

The Chariot
By Voster O'Brien


The eye opens and dominates the all.

I rise, but the sky rises with me, seems impossible to touch.

The distances close slow, close achingly slow, but close nonetheless.

My soul is as a snowball,

Rolling,

Rolling,

Gaining speed,

Gaining traction,

Becoming

Rising.

Rising.

Too driven to stop.


- - -
Born in the hills outside Von Der Burg in the midwest, Voster has been a school teacher for twelve years. He loves fish and thoroughly loathes greenbeans.