runawaybum09
in the twilight of my life I want to help smoke a long, fat joint and dance at the bottom of a waterfall when the sun is bright and hard and heavy with all of my friends. wandering is how I'm going to get there.
A cliff above a dark and gleaming sea. Scraps of white cloud, blowing across a baked blue sky. Countless pinpricks of yellow light, staring out of a fog-shrouded city. These all moved through the wanderer's mind, not in flashes but in slow, lingering waves.
The room exuded sage. By saying this I do no mean that someone had painstakingly painted the entire room in the passive shade of that color, though of course that was also true. I mean that if there were a room called Wisdom, in a house called Virtue, it would be this room.
In tangles of flicker, the boy watched from under the overpass as trucks roared over. The hot metal and diesel wafted down. His gaze flitted warily over concrete and trash heaps, never still. A steam pillar screamed up from a grate. A posse of rats scrabbled under a tarp.
When I think of chocolate, I think of one person. She drifts through my mind like a piece of silk on a warm breeze. The sun smooths it's gentle shadow. It's not an erotic thing, at least, not yet. It's better.
My cat walked off the edge of a building today. Rixie, was her name. I don't get it. She was stalking the roofgarden, like she loves--loved--to do, with her tail swaying proudly behind her. She used to just to circuits, you know? Like laps around the edge. I was never too worried about it. Cats don't need you to worry about them. She always had it together. Always a step ahead of life. Not like me. And I was looking at this fucking little tomato, wondering if it was worth the trouble of picking because sometimes you get them like that where they're like almost retarded. Might pull through, might not. So I decided, hey, lets just leave it be. Live and let live. Come what may, and it won't be in my hands any more. And I look up and see Rixie perched there, against the blue sky. That kind of baked blue they always put on porcelain and pottery and all that. She looked back at me and her shoulders kind of moved. It wasn't a shrug, not really. Cats do different things with their bodies than we do. But I was looking at her eyes. Her eyes--the look she gave me, that's what made me think she was shrugging. She meant something by it don't look at me like that. Why else would she go and...she just walked off. Like she was going somewhere. I didn't move for about a whole second. Then I ran over and looked over and I saw her all over the sidewalk. Jesus.
(Obviously I kept going after the time limit, and I cry your pardon)
This is no place for children. Said my dad.
But I loved the dark. There was always something that stood out.
A slightly paler splotch, or a pinprick of a star. But even in the darkest of the dark,
it was worth it to turn the imaginary key (click) and paint dragons and lochs and dark city spires and faces in my head.
Kind of like acid.
As the door slammed shut behind me, I glimpsed the shadow of something tall, ragged and catlike flit across the wall. Then the light was cut off, and I heard the sound of the lock click and I was alone. There was a roaring in my head, and the cut-string tension of fear throbbing through every nerve and synapse in me.
writing since 2011 · 8 entries · 6 days shown up
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darkroombluebehindshadowlightcutclickheadlovedworthcitywalkededgerixiecats