I Am Santo

Fiction, poetry, music and mindscape pictures by creative artist Jason Santo

Petie listened to the engine of the car. It was late afternoon and mom had been driving for forever. They’d stopped somewhere during the night – he remembered waking up and seeing the long white lights of a gas station overhead through the back window – but he didn’t believe they’d stopped since. And mom wasn’t talking or singing, wasn’t playing the license plate game or counting blue cars, but instead kept her attention on the road. She seemed scared and sad. Petie wasn’t sure where they were going, but he knew it was away from Da. He called his dad that because when he was little he couldn’t say the whole word. But now he was a big boy and it was okay that he and mom left Da behind. Petie was five years old, watching strange looking trees and fields blur by the back window. He wasn’t scared because he could protect mom. Petie thought so because he knew how to fire a gun, had watched it on TV plenty of times. And when Da hurt mom that night, when he heard mom crying and saw her bleeding nose, Petie pulled the trigger. Da was still breathing when they left the house, but they didn’t call the hospital. They left and drove very fast. Petie didn’t like Da, but he missed him right now. At least he played road games on long drives and sang in the car. This was boring.


#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #writersofig #poetrycommunity #literature #creativewriting #fiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #writersofinstagram #poetsofinstagram #flashfiction #microfiction #storiesofinstagram #countryside #farm #rural #autumn #carshot #skyporn (at Runaways)

The broken down black Camero he drove had turned Shelly on, but niw that he was at her ranch, she felt shy and stupid. Gary was the kind of guy all the girls in her class talked about: older, dangerous, fast. And his hands seemed to have a mind of their own when they’d met, flexing their way under her shirt and below the tight band of her panties which she’d bought for that night. She wanted to be seen, and by someone like Gary, but now he was there and everything seemed too real, as if a dream she’d has kept going once she’d opened her eyes. The headlights of the Camero made her cast her eyes down and though she’d been waiting half an hour for him to show up, Shelly was slow to open the gate to the driveway up to her parents’ house. They were in Florida right now, probably eating swordfish and sipping gimlets on The Keys. In the meantime she would be surrendering to Gary and his Camero, the headlights by which her weakness was transparent. The gate opened with a groan of its unoiled hinges, and Gary rolled in, unwelcome.


This photo is from an IGer named @just_jaylin who has been a great sport by sending me images to write to each time I send out a request for such. Finally, I got around to one of them! I love this shot. It’s a David Lynch movie waiting to happen and that partially is the vibe I tried to represent with this odd little take. Thank you, Jaylin!

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