That Red Plaid Shirt
Worn and tattered, red and plaid.
Elbows ripped out from years of wear.
Chipped buttons, hanging by threads.
Always paired with blue jeans.
Dark brown boat shoes, too.
It was never put away.
He was perpetually inside of it, giving it life.
It became part of his identity.
Now it's stuffed in a drawer, out of sight and out of mind.
Except it isn't out of mind.
He isn't out of mind.
The shirt lies cold and lifeless like he did just moments after his final breath.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (1 so far!)
I knew this was going to be a 'missing somebody' piece from the title.
- #1565 Posted 3 years ago
- Published 3 years ago.
- Story viewed 5 times and rated 0 times.
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