I am going to attempt to do my daily blog again - work has been intense lately, but if I can't take a few minutes out of the day to write, then why do I write at all?
***********************
When he opened his eyes, the fan above him seemed to quiver with anticipation. He examined it in the low light of morning. Each fan blade had been moulded to look like a ceramic palm leaf. The fan was meant to evoke the feeling of tropical relaxation - it failed miserably, instead evoking images of slaves chained by the foot to a throne, fanning a man or woman with the devotion of the damned. He closed his eyes for a moment and let the image blend into the shifting patterns of shapes and colors that danced across his vision.
As a child, he had noticed the drifting spots while falling asleep one afternoon, the setting sun caressing his gently rising and falling chest with deft fingertips. His eyes had closed gradually, unable to focus on anything, his sight already moving inwards, when he saw a fringed spot jump across his sight - seemingly from one eye to the next. It frightened him - perhaps this was an illness, perhaps he was seeing bacteria or germs, or something worse. Small feet in wool socks made a soft thumping sound, a body rolling over onto teak paneling, as he ran to his father, tears beginning at the corners of his eyes.
His father was sitting in the study, as he always was after a certain hour of the day. The study was a small room enclosed by two wooden doors whose faces were glass - always cool to the touch, even in summertime. The child's mother hated cleaning fingerprints off of each glass panel but the child could not resist placing his hands on them to push the doors open. There was something magical about the feel of cool glass against his skin - even in the dead heat of summer, where laughter runs liquid, the glass remained cool against his sweating palms. He noticed that sensation now as he pushed open one of the doors to enter the study and seek guidance from his father, unbuttoned shirt sleeves the mark of leisure and perhaps success.
-Rich
we all forget sometimes
No comments:
Post a Comment