Not even my name

Playing dice he lost love, home and hope.

He found room in the Ocean’s arms, but it was a terrible trip and while the others cried invoking their own Saints in a Babel of tongues, he oared silent, resigned, the empty head.

“After all, not even my name they could spell, I bet”.

Street chess player, London - UK
Street chess player, London – UK
Microfiction #4
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2 thoughts on “Not even my name

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