Micah Park Biffle

   Darlene's Summer Heat   Ninety-five degrees and the humidity is sticking like spit. Darlene's fan is quickly spinning, but its motor gives out a spurt and ceases. A short grinding of gears as if a final scream before death. Darlene, held in the grasp of copious sweat rolls slightly over to the fan from her bed. She slaps the fan in hopes it will jolt it to life.  But there is no such luck. With her exhausted body from the relentless beating of the sun, she slowly sits up while uttering obscenities beneath her breath.  "Damn, fan...why in hell would you quick working now? You bastard, you pointless machine, now you're nothing more but a damn paper weight."   Sitting up in her bed, she slides her hands through her ruby hair and guides it to rest behind her head. With her hair behind her, she looks around her room as the sun blazes through the thin white curtains. "Why did I not buy darker curtains, this place is hell during the summer?"   ...

   The Wild West  My father sprung from the porch and swept me up in his arms. At first I was not alarmed, as a young girl I thought for a moment he was playing with me. But as he picked me up and I giggled he gave no equal response.   I looked up, his face was stern with worry. His eyes gazed into the horizon as the sun started to sink behind the short cascade of desert hills. I then looked over as well and there in the distance like walking shadows, were six men riding horses.   We often got visitors at our home. We were near a central road for travelers. Which we often gave them a place to rest as long as they respected our rules. But these visitors, if you could even call them that were not the usual kind.   My father rushed me into the house and told me to lock the door in stay inside. I was then overcome with fear. My father shut the door and I locked it. As he shut it I saw him reaching for his pistol that was slung over his chair on the ...

  A Fading Wound,  A Warrior's Death   Old, most just pass him by. An era past, forgotten and left behind. The world spins without patience, without delay. Time, a ever ending creation lasting beyond death. And he sits, alone, atop a park bench.   Carefully listening to the chirping of birds. The soft distant chatter of passersby, as he feels the echoes of his fading thoughts. Memories long held in horror, visions of massacre, of impending demise at the eyes of the enemy.   His grey hair, covered in an old black hat, labeled with golden words. Sorrow rolls about his heart like a tumbling stone to the splitting of earth. He remains the last of those he loves, those brothers he held dear, in time of crises, in time of peace.   Friends that felt as he did, friends that knew of his scars. They too shared such wounds, silent and those of the visible. Shadows of anguish shower his face, his sinking skin slowly reaching to earth. A grave be his ...

The Gulags Reach     Sasha stands with a friend as she waits for her cousin to dismount the bus. Shoulder to shoulder her and her friend stand in the cold winter of Russia as it ensnares them. The sky is wide with blue but the streets are hugged in snow and busy bodies.   The bus arrives and Sasha grins widely with excitement. Her friends clasps to her arm as they share the energy of anticipation. A small crowd gathers around them as others wait with titillating excitement to receive their friends and family members.   People start to dismount and the crowd suddenly envelopes Sasha and her friend. It becomes difficult for them to see if her cousin has exited the bus. Sasha and her friend try to push through the crowd but they are met with resistance from other overly energetic bystanders. So they stay where they are bobbing up and down on their toes. Peering like meerkats  hoping to catch a glimpse of her cousin as she steps off the bus.   ...

An Audience Revolt    The audience has spoke and they are outraged. They have grown irate of the noxious lies. The endless attempts to run them dry, playing the audience as if fools. To bury them to the catacombs of fees, just to appease the actors. The famous seats of the world.  And now, the audience stands, booing with great indignation. Baring anger in hand, "Tear down the stage. Our lives mean nothing to them. They have taken us for jesters, for pockets to line theirs."  "They have taken from us our freedom to be. Slowly suffocating us with their entertainment to dull our senses. Keeping us in the dark as if the sun is no more."  The audience gathers in arms as the actors stare as if appalled. Blinded they say, for they wish only the audience pleasure. The angry crowd responds,  "But where does the pleasure come when not even the average can watch? Where does the fun live, when not even our hearts can bear a single day. What is our ent...

He Could Have Quit  Cab is struggling in the race. His heart is beating quicker than the pace at which the rain is falling. The Georgia heat is basking upon his body. Sweat has consumed every thread he is wearing. Behind is the beast of Defeat and its father, Surrender.  His back is aching as the weight he carries increases with pain as he fights to keep stepping forward. The streets continue to incline and decline like a wild waves upon the sea. His eyes are focused to the front. Every ounce in his body wants to quit.   His mind is teetering on reasonable reasons to give up. To let go and fall away into the bliss of sitting down. But he can't, he refuses. He did not come this far to give up. To let sweat, pain, and challenges be the barrier of his dream.  So he fights, he clears his mind to keep going, to not falter and quit. As he keeps pushing, he hears the rumbling of Defeat and Surrender tailing him. Their dark luminous eyes glare over him as Cab kee...

Spared from Death  It was our last meal, I remember it well. It was the meal before everything changed. It was the meal  that tasted so sweet yet so bitter. I remember what it was to this day. It was rice, beans, and a packet of salt. We were given water that had run stale from sitting in horse troughs.  The air was cold that day, the fog was dense. The clouds were low and hovered with authority.  They were of a darkly color, as dark as rising smoke from burning tires. I remember Looking up at them as I ate my food in a huddled crowd of others, I remember they gave me an ominous feel.  But they also gave me comfort. Like a wet coat in the rain, it may not completely protect you from the rain, but it is better than not having it. As I was eating my food, I remember feeling an elderly man, probably fifty years older than me shivering wildly.  His eyes were dark, circled in depression and misery. His skin wrinkled like an old rag. His breath was sh...

A Family Day  It's another beautiful day with the Morins family. Their usually weekend adventures has just begun. The sun is high, the birds are chirping from the edge of the woods. Everything is in perfect condition for the perfect family outing. The daughter of the family, Molly, is swinging between her parents as they hold her up. She counts how many seconds she stays in the air. "1...2....3.." Every time she lands on the ground a great big smile passes over her face. Followed by a contagious giggle that is accompanied by the smiles of her parents. Today she woke up excited, for today is the first time she gets to go to the zoo. The zoo, being only a few blocks down the road they decided to walk there as a family. They are all anticipating a wonderful day. Spending time with each other is the best thing they enjoy. Nothing beats the goofy moments between the three of them. Everything is excellent toady. Everyone is happy, the sun is coasting gently abov...

Our Freedom Here we stand, at the jaws of tyranny; brave, bold, ready to sacrifice. To free our souls from the binds of royal rule. Too long have we been the sheep of the foul, of the fraudulent virtues of power. Ceding our work for the masses. Oppressing us from the very air we breathe. Forcing us to the belly of silence as we become slaves to rulers, to greed. But now, now we are together, arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. Ready to give it our all. To give our destitute souls the chance to live. To bring each man and woman a chance to change their life. To breed their dreams as they please and build a family of moral ground. We shall fight for this land and give our people hope. Putting the glory of our god before us and the love our family in our hearts. Our people, are our family. We must be vigilant today, for the enemy seeks to devour us. To force us to our impaling, to sever our heads from our bodies. Fear is their strategy, but heart is ours. For the ...

The Obscene Reality of Today  "War is at the edge, I can feel us all standing there." He says as he looks to the stars as a pink cloud floods the night. He feels the world becoming torn. Splitting on behalf of the mentally immature, nothing seems hopeful. He watches as the news marks the world as chaos. Bleeding words of worry an anxious doubt of any peace. "War is inevitable." He shutters as he stares back from the sky to his flickering screen.  "I can feel the hostility in the air, its thick, like the humidity of the south." He wipes his lips of his drink.  His eyes glued with anxiety as the TV spews with relentless hate and gives bitterness to the mere existence of human kind. He listens and listens and all hope becomes constricted like a kink in a hose; waiting to burst. His throat tenses as he fills his mind with the drivel of the narcissistic ignorant. Photos of the medias nemesis display with vile rubbish as the truth is disto...

The Praise of The Wicked He has lied for so long it has become his truth. Creating power, creating wealth with such a tongue of deceit. Smirking between the acts of his crimes as he slides through the bars. Yet, he is praised for his so called gracious endeavors and his accolades of triumphant change. Slithering beneath the grass he has grasped the ankles of his followers, sinking his fangs with precision. Poisoning their thoughts, their freedom with hypocrisy, fraud, and the keen ability of a silver tongue. Upon his pedestal he walks with a darkly sheen, as if something unworldly. As he ensnares the weak with bountiful dishonesty. With deceptive hatred toward his enemy, using the feeble as fodder for his tricks. His inevitable plan to be sly, powerful, and filthy to world, but be lacking in consequence.  Engaging in the atrocious behind closed doors. Generating his wealth through the arms of our enemies and giving no heed to the fallout that shall be. He lives i...

A Ticking Clock In War Three minutes and twenty seconds, the clock is ticking! Survival is at the fore front his mind, his veins, rushing rivers of blood. His eyes constrict to the goal at hand. Gun fire resonates through the village like wild thunder; as it rains down on the now burning and motionless convoy. Screams and explosions take flight to the dusted sky. The moon beams with a crimson radiance. Hill stops stand silhouetted in the foreground. Nothing is completely coherent in the moment. His thoughts collide in a wild fight to keep himself alive, he has only himself. Communications have ceased do to debris from an explosion hitting his radio. His chest on a constant rate to feed his lungs air. His bodied pulsating to the rhythm of his adrenaline charged heart. Bullets whisk by; only a few feet above his head. He watches the rounds buzz past him as they pop with an all too familiar snap. Watching, he takes a chance to see what threat he is against. Stuck behind a s...