Post by nebenstimme on Mar 20, 2008 15:16:15 GMT -6
I'm not much of a writer (I prefer the visual and musical arts) but here goes....
I drifted around the house lethargically. The sun rays were now just barely reaching the windows, and the morning air tasted of much too sweet mint on the tip of my tongue. The creaky dark wood floors were like smooth ice under my bare feet as I slipped as soundlessly as I could into the kitchen. I still had the blurry just-woke-up vision, but I knew the lay of the house enough to guide myself blinded-folded and backwards if need be. My feet had run over the patterns and scratches many times since I had been born. The place was now permanently worn into my mind, whether I wanted it or not.
The bright red rays blinded me as I stepped into the doorway. I covered my eyes with my arm as I moved out of the direct glare. I lowered my arm and observed my father already sitting at the table. Nothing less than what I had expected of course. He was always an early riser.
His face was hidden behind the newspaper he was currently staring at, but most likely not reading. Even if I couldn’t see his face, I knew it was expressionless. It was always expressionless. It closely resembled weathered stone. Bearing through the elements while barely changing at all.
I ambled over to the freezer and ran my hand over the cool silver handle then opened it. The cool air rushed out to kiss my face and I felt the obscurity of my vision clear up slowly. It felt really good.
“It’s her birthday,” my father spoke impassively from behind me at the table. I said nothing and kept my countenance in front of the cool air. He knew I was listening. “Go see her.” It was not a question, but an order. Though my mind screamed accusations and lashed out in anger, my face remained still. It’s a skill I’d honed over the years.
I reached inside the freezer, grabbed a plastic bag, and closed the sanctuary. Then I turned around look at my father face to face, even though I knew he would never look at me. I put on a smile that said nothing in the world would please me more than to listen to him.
“Yes sir," I answered.
Of course he made no acknowledgement I had said anything.
I continued on as if I’d had his approval when he really had ignored me. It didn’t bother me one bit. I was used to only having my own thoughts as company.
When I walked outside the house the blistering sun hit me with a shock. I stopped momentarily to observe the change in temperature, and then continued walking. The air was empty of all moisture and oppressively stifling, but the grass was still a violent shade of green. The tall blades tickled the bottom of my feet as I moved carefully to avoid any sorts of briars.
I tore off the packaging around the item I’d taken from the freezer and threw it on the ground. Inside was a bright red and wonderfully cold ice pop. It seemed the perfect thing to take with me.
I found living by the church extremely hard if I ever thought about it. So needless to say I never did. I kept it the furthest thing from my mind at all times, so to me it didn’t even exist. I’d look out the window and instead to seeing the tall steeple and the graves behind it, I saw nothing but a field. It was a beautiful field though, full of flowers and insects and every once in a while the occasional fairy. The best part was that it belonged to me and only me. Anytime I was depressed I could look out the windows and see my “secret garden.” It made me feel better to see something so beautiful.
I walked around the far side of the church and observed the multitude of carefully sculpted marble around me. This was certainly not my garden. This place just happened to occupy the same space and was in no way related to my beautiful field. Mere coincidence. The shorter I made my business here the better. I approached the large smooth stone that marked my destination without stopping to gaze at the others around me. I had no business with them.
The stone on my mother’s grave was a modest one. A simple slab of rock with meaningless words and pointless numbers etched into it. I stared at it for a good few seconds.
At the top was etched “Peacemaker.” Below that was her name. Below her name was her date of birth, which was today’s date. Below her date of birth was her date of death. I stared at the engraved digits at the bottom of the stone. The string of number spelled out the day of her death and the day of my birth. If I could have, I would have scrapped those numbers right off the stone. It would have been so easy to wipe that day right out of the calendar, but the numbers provided an irritating testament to the day’s existence. I glared at them as I felt a cool sticky substance trickling onto my hand.
I calmly looked down to see what the problem was. The ice pop I’d forgotten about had taken it upon itself to start melting in the hot summer sun. I threw the annoying thing onto the ground and looked at my soiled hand. The red liquid now covered my palm and fingers presenting a ghastly sight. I raised my hand up to the sun and observed the effect. The morning light shined on the juice and solidified its appearance. It was not pleasant at all.
I sighed and sat on the ground, still staring at the ground. I’d have to wash this off before I got inside or my father might start questioning me. And even if I gave him the explanation, he might not believe me.
I looked at my hand again and without warning felt tears starting to well up in my eyes. I didn’t know what they were for, but they refused to go away, so I just left them alone. They always gave up eventually.
I drifted around the house lethargically. The sun rays were now just barely reaching the windows, and the morning air tasted of much too sweet mint on the tip of my tongue. The creaky dark wood floors were like smooth ice under my bare feet as I slipped as soundlessly as I could into the kitchen. I still had the blurry just-woke-up vision, but I knew the lay of the house enough to guide myself blinded-folded and backwards if need be. My feet had run over the patterns and scratches many times since I had been born. The place was now permanently worn into my mind, whether I wanted it or not.
The bright red rays blinded me as I stepped into the doorway. I covered my eyes with my arm as I moved out of the direct glare. I lowered my arm and observed my father already sitting at the table. Nothing less than what I had expected of course. He was always an early riser.
His face was hidden behind the newspaper he was currently staring at, but most likely not reading. Even if I couldn’t see his face, I knew it was expressionless. It was always expressionless. It closely resembled weathered stone. Bearing through the elements while barely changing at all.
I ambled over to the freezer and ran my hand over the cool silver handle then opened it. The cool air rushed out to kiss my face and I felt the obscurity of my vision clear up slowly. It felt really good.
“It’s her birthday,” my father spoke impassively from behind me at the table. I said nothing and kept my countenance in front of the cool air. He knew I was listening. “Go see her.” It was not a question, but an order. Though my mind screamed accusations and lashed out in anger, my face remained still. It’s a skill I’d honed over the years.
I reached inside the freezer, grabbed a plastic bag, and closed the sanctuary. Then I turned around look at my father face to face, even though I knew he would never look at me. I put on a smile that said nothing in the world would please me more than to listen to him.
“Yes sir," I answered.
Of course he made no acknowledgement I had said anything.
I continued on as if I’d had his approval when he really had ignored me. It didn’t bother me one bit. I was used to only having my own thoughts as company.
When I walked outside the house the blistering sun hit me with a shock. I stopped momentarily to observe the change in temperature, and then continued walking. The air was empty of all moisture and oppressively stifling, but the grass was still a violent shade of green. The tall blades tickled the bottom of my feet as I moved carefully to avoid any sorts of briars.
I tore off the packaging around the item I’d taken from the freezer and threw it on the ground. Inside was a bright red and wonderfully cold ice pop. It seemed the perfect thing to take with me.
I found living by the church extremely hard if I ever thought about it. So needless to say I never did. I kept it the furthest thing from my mind at all times, so to me it didn’t even exist. I’d look out the window and instead to seeing the tall steeple and the graves behind it, I saw nothing but a field. It was a beautiful field though, full of flowers and insects and every once in a while the occasional fairy. The best part was that it belonged to me and only me. Anytime I was depressed I could look out the windows and see my “secret garden.” It made me feel better to see something so beautiful.
I walked around the far side of the church and observed the multitude of carefully sculpted marble around me. This was certainly not my garden. This place just happened to occupy the same space and was in no way related to my beautiful field. Mere coincidence. The shorter I made my business here the better. I approached the large smooth stone that marked my destination without stopping to gaze at the others around me. I had no business with them.
The stone on my mother’s grave was a modest one. A simple slab of rock with meaningless words and pointless numbers etched into it. I stared at it for a good few seconds.
At the top was etched “Peacemaker.” Below that was her name. Below her name was her date of birth, which was today’s date. Below her date of birth was her date of death. I stared at the engraved digits at the bottom of the stone. The string of number spelled out the day of her death and the day of my birth. If I could have, I would have scrapped those numbers right off the stone. It would have been so easy to wipe that day right out of the calendar, but the numbers provided an irritating testament to the day’s existence. I glared at them as I felt a cool sticky substance trickling onto my hand.
I calmly looked down to see what the problem was. The ice pop I’d forgotten about had taken it upon itself to start melting in the hot summer sun. I threw the annoying thing onto the ground and looked at my soiled hand. The red liquid now covered my palm and fingers presenting a ghastly sight. I raised my hand up to the sun and observed the effect. The morning light shined on the juice and solidified its appearance. It was not pleasant at all.
I sighed and sat on the ground, still staring at the ground. I’d have to wash this off before I got inside or my father might start questioning me. And even if I gave him the explanation, he might not believe me.
I looked at my hand again and without warning felt tears starting to well up in my eyes. I didn’t know what they were for, but they refused to go away, so I just left them alone. They always gave up eventually.