The Impossible


You said, “I stopped the car along Route 146,” the girls were with you; other people came to a stop, pulled off to the side of the road,” you were never alone.

The sun was setting as – You gazed toward the west, you and all of those who believed only the impossible, only what your mind told you to believe.


You said, “It was a large round disc, or it may have been oval, but surrounded with color – lights continued to flash, different colors: no one spoke.”

The impossible hung in the air – you believed it nearly touched the birch trees along Route 146 – near the Knolls – The Atomic Power Lab. . .

It never made the papers, or television; no one interviewed those who stared: lines of cars pulled of to the side of the road. You – talked once – even our girls never mentioned it, but once: perhaps you were allowed to speak; once?

One night you noticed the impossible, again – dashed up the stairway – to show me exactly what – impossible, was.

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Angie's Diary