Creative Writing Pieces

Hit Man Emulation

***this piece is not finished***

The Gardener

Sunrise:

First light in the morning is when he wakes up, never with an alarm clock or a shake on his shoulder. With dirt caked, broken seamed and frayed overall ends, he hopped upon the bed of the truck, slapping it's side signaling to leave. The fresh morning air overturned with the heaviness of the night's rainfall, weaved through his bed-headed curls as the truck sped down the dust and mud road to the fields.

Pebble in the Road:

They all stood on the side of the road looking at the damage. How could such a tiny pebble ruin two tires, they asked each other.

Walking:

No truck. No signal. No phone. All of the men decided to go by foot and walk the last eight miles. They'd get it later with a tow truck, they said agreeingly. Sweating necks hung down under the hot sun, with eyes both watering and in slits. They took breaks in order to let any laggers to reach them, to check for signals, and to catch their breaths.

Petal Work:

Tired from the long walk under the scorching sun burning his shoulders to a sickly red, his hands held a steady tremor. He cut up his hands and slashed through the delicate petals of flowers and the sturdiness of branches with premature fruit. They all stared at him and he was scolded.

Dirty Hands:

Clouded Eyes:

Pulled Back:

Long walk back:

Broken Hill:

Sunset: