Excerpt | Blood Orange: Walter
Walter stood on his back porch and looked over his trees. It was quiet and still. The sun was reaching further into the sky and clouds dotted the rich blue canvas.
His old bones found a seat and he slept until the sun was nearly kissing the horizon. It was still quiet and Walter smiled an empty smile.
“Well old man, let’s hope you can make the dead proud.”
He creaked and found the kitchen, his nearly empty cupboards staring back at his sunken eyes. Another blood orange’s skin stained his hands and he waited for sleep to take him once more.
Dawn would come early and he would rise, without rest and without an alarm. It would still be quiet and he would still be alone, wanting nothing more than for the oranges to come back and put some color into his life once again, their deep color like tiny sunrises along every horizon that his eyes could find.