NEW FICTION:

His face was torn and so was his shirt. He had stumbled along the side of the road as long as he was able - but now, now he stood and wavered, his body rocking to and fro, to and fro in a non-existent breeze. He hummed to himself - the mental fixing mantra of his time. His body ached - he winced every time he rocked - to and fro, to and fro. But he couldn't stop himself, he wouldn't. He hummed a little louder, changed the tone, shifted some of the notes - it was better. He drummed the new notes on his thigh, the rough damp material of his jeans giving him purchase on reality - a reality, didn't matter which, just one of them that mattered for the moment. He rocked his body, hummed his mantra, drummed his fingers - on a spot on the side of the road, in a starless sky, on a thick summer night.