By Travis Wright


I see five figures with faces fixed in faith. Hoods cover their heads and robes obscure their bodies. They appear to be shuffling behind each other but they are frozen in the moment; concrete. They are carrying something, though I do not know what. I hazard a guess and say it’s a coffin and that they are its pallbearers who forever marching to the funeral hymn.


“Buddha” lays outlined against the twilit sky wrapped in a thick neon glow. Next to the word a martini glass flickers for the sign is old and its building is cheaper. In its womb it holds the drunken forgetfulness of a days work. All I can see is the sign as my eyes are fixed to its radiant glow. Though I cannot hear, I feel in my mind that the sign is humming, maybe even singing the mantras of the Buddhist monks. The sign’s penetrating whispers reverberate in my mind as it hums to me, “Om”.


I see five figures but I know there are more because the burden of death is not easily carried. Behind their hoods and robes they are nothing but what our mind assumes is shrouded beneath the deceitful fabric. Forever they have been tasked with this burden of the marble casket and the deceased within, but they too were chiseled from same marble making them one with the casket; one with death. Their faces are, at a glance, solemn, but their strength, duty, and resolute faith make them appear enlightened if one looks deeper.

The sign flashes again and I see it for the perverted thing it is. “Buddha”, written out in the fragility of glass tubing, flickers as electricity commands the gases inside to glow.At first my mind moves to the great man who once, thousands of years ago, sat and fasted beneath the Bodhi tree and found true enlightenment. The signs imperfections flicker and all I see is a man in a drunken stupor pissing on a tree while calling out absurdities to the night. I cannot tear my eyes away and the hum penetrates me and sings my soul the song of decay.


About the Author:

Travis Wright is a 19 year old writer studying at SUNY Brockport to get his Bachelors in Creative Writing and Journalism as well as a minor in Meteorology. When he’s not on campus, he lives at home with his mother and father who have supported his writing since he started in Freshmen year at Barker High School. He was inspired by his English teacher to start writing and found that not only did he love to do it but other people seemed to enjoy his work. Unfortunately, his teacher, Mr. Anthony Petti, passed away when Travis was still in High School and he dedicates all his works to Mr. Petti for giving him the inspiration he needed to pursue his passion. Travis does not have many works officially published but he has a site ( where he submits almost all of his works for his peers to read. He is also a writer for SUNY Brockport’s paper The Stylus and is currently awaiting approval to write a technology column. He can be contacted at