Illustrated Prose: Dust

Dust

Writer: Deniz Zeynep
Photographer: Neely Johnson
QuailBellMagazine.com

There she was: her left foot stood on top of her right. The frayed ends of her red flannel shirt dusted the tops of her thighs as she watched the truck disappear among the dust clouds from the gravel driveway. The crackling rocks under the tires were a rumbling thunder that echoed in her stomach. As the sun finally peaked its core past the clouds and into her eyes, she squinted away remnants of mica and salt.

She bent down to the ground, her weight on her right foot, to grab a chunk of the broken driveway with her left hand. The gravel felt sharp and hot as she fingered for a rock as big as her fist.

Breaking her stork-like balance, she stepped back with her left foot, wound up her arm and threw the mass with her entire past towards his truck as it evaporated into the dusty abyss. All she heard were the distant thunder from the worn tires; or was it her crackling pulse that pounded into her ears?

Her throw threw her a couple of steps forward, right onto the outskirts of the dust trail. Panting, she walked backwards into the dewy grass, her gaze followed the silver truck as it disappeared into the silver dust.

Her feet planted into the grass, drops of dew left her feet covered with sun droplets. The quenched feeling underneath her bare feet crept up her legs, pinched her pelvis, flipped around her gut, squeezed her lungs, punched through her heart, and finally climbed up her throat as she exhaled for the last time, “Bye.”

#Prose #Photography #NeelyJohnsonPhotography #DenizZeynepProse #PhotoAndProse #Southern #Virginia

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