Digital Story v3
In my hands I see my Dad. I lay sprawled out, , the the living room floor’s soft carpet burns, rough on my elblows. I see how I have it, his love to build, to press together, to feel the order of meshing gears.
Until the gears slip, the joints crack, and the base slips away. My blood sizzles, and with a swipe the neat lines and angles are crumbled, dissolved to sand, and swept away a sudden gust of wind. I shiver, and pick up what is left of my creation. My destruction