It Was 11:30 PM

100_1183

It was 11:30 PM when he made his last cup of coffee, stirring in the creamer while the rain pelted his kitchen window.

It was the wind that sent sheets of rain, lashing out in waves again and again. He was glad to be home.

It wasn’t much of an apartment but it was peaceful. Dimly lit, he kept only 2 lights on, like his father had taught him.

Should he read the paper? He headed for his chair. He realized nobody really read the paper anymore, did they? He decided instead to get out his travel book – the one on Ireland.

Someday he wouldn’t be working 18 hour shifts at the hospital anymore.

It was 12:10 AM when he fell asleep in his chair, the book still open on his lap, as he dreamed of a cottage by the sea. 

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies

16 thoughts on “It Was 11:30 PM

  1. Yet isn’t it the truth that for most of our lives we are slaves to a job? And then by the time we are able to travel we are all used up. Loved this small story, Nico. ☺️

  2. Beautiful story giving some much colour and emotion in few words. I can imagine your flat,
    your father’s influence, your dream of Ireland that comes true in your dream.
    By the way, it is beautiful there – by the coast.

    miriam

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s