Samuel O’Hare

An Excerpt From My Ongoing Work, “To Always Be Alone”.

“David,” he said, not turning around to see if I was even there. “Come look at something.”         I walked over and stood behind him.  In his weathered hands he held a pair of horseshoes.  As he turned them over, a small golden band encircling his left, small finger, connected with one of the horseshoes, generating a muffled clink.  My mind quickly swept backwards, moving towards more moments and times that I would rather forget.  Ignoring reason, I turned towards the fleeting sound; it was gone.                                                                                                          “These were on the floor when I began work this morning.”  He said, missing my sudden movements.  “My eyes keep watering; I need to know which one is which.”                                     There; he was set on me learning the “trade,” and was trying anything he could think up to get me involved.  “They look close enough to me.”  I said, allowing resignation to vibrate in my voice.                                                                                                                                                              “No…they’re not…close enough.  That word can be dangerous, you know.”  He talked as if he was losing confidence in what he was saying, “Men die, because of variables deemed ‘close enough.’”

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