Thursday, March 18, 2010


By Rodney Horne

The bear reared up, roared. Spit flew, hit hands as I tried to block my face, did what all humans do right before they die. The bear dragged my corpse back to its cave. In a vision, I saw my skull, broken open, cracked edges polished and white. Death begets life.

When I am awake, I stare at the ceiling and watch the moons and stars tingle past each other in the shadows that creep from cobwebbed corners. Cool air brushes my skin, and I am naked on a bare mattress. I think of the bear, and I know, this is where I belong.

This is my heaven, my hell, my limbo, my second shot.

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Dr. Rodney Horne lives on a hillside with his wife and his two cats. Having retired from technical writing, he has been published in Neometropolis Magazine, The Opinion Magazine, and Armitage Hand (AHNR).


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