Wind down

In the thunderclap

she hears her name.


Last one in,

the moth enters

before the door closes.


Silence unlike the charity dinner

there- selfies first.


Deciding where to land

her brown curls,

flow down.


She combs her hair,

the length of a girls dream.

50 word stories: The Old Man

The lightning pace, bowed head, and concealing clock when footsteps behind him like a hundred horses echoed- memories only he seemed to hold.

That time. Those other times. He sighs as the churning crowd whirls. Once he was someone; not a dirty shadow on a meandering walk to nowhere.