The yoke of all things.

She was tired, completely languid yet she righteously carried her yoke sculpted from the weight of all things. She shrunk from the intensity of her pain while striving to dodge playing kids and reckless drivers who seemed equally sunned. Then, she noticed a building with a cross on it. Continue reading “The yoke of all things.”

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The Yellow Bus.

Moving at an accelerated pace, it makes only abrupt stops in a bid to either take in more into the already stuffed space or create a brief relief of dropping off.

Its badly scrapped surface barely able to preserve its yellow colour, giving an impression of stains rather than intended colouring with an even more pitiful interior; a real eye sore telling tales of long-suffering passengers. Continue reading “The Yellow Bus.”

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