Fiction

The Runner

3 Minute Read  ✍🏻 30th January 2018
🔗 Share: jukes.in/run

Overwork and pressure have put grit in his blood. Skin shadowy, tanned ashen from artificial light, mouth soured by stale air, back teeth aching from the lock-jaw of stress. There is shrapnel in his back; shot through with gristle, steel cables of torsion in his neck. His blood pumps thickly and sluggishly, sludging through brittle arteries, pooling as concrete in his chest. Later that night, insomnia mocks sleep, acid burning through bone-dry eyelids. Blinking blindly in the sickly glow of dawn, the road offers an escape.

Fiction

Well, Why Not?

⏱ 10 Minute Read  ✍🏻 03 September 2017
🔗 Share: jukes.in/why

I am walking to the central Monument in the bright May Sunshine. I am carrying a paper bag that contains a sandwich, a bottle of sparkling water and an apple. The content of the sandwich is not important.