KingCarnie
In, the fading light, it seemed to John that the whole world sparkled gold. He was standing in the center of a wide field, the evening wind making the tall stalks of wheat surrounding him dance in the Sun's dying rays.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. This was it: what he had been preparing for all these months.He would finally do something that was worthwhile, something that counted. Steeling his resolve, he walked through the doorway.
She perched beside the window, sitting cross-legged on it's wide, bench-like sill. The corners of her lips were tilted slightly down, her eyes narrowed. Her whole body seemed to lean into the small hardcover book she held in her hands, it's bright white binding standing out sharply in front of the multi-hued curtains. The afternoon sun shone through the window in a narrow column, catching and holding one of her small hands. Dust motes danced slowly around it. Completely unaware of the world around her, she was strikingly beautiful, but brutally so. You might have thought her inanimate.
In the corner stood a rusted wheelchair, auburn spokes twisted into uselessness. It sat, ironically out of place, in the gutted remains of the old hospital. James' eyes were drawn to the wreckage, wondering how it ended up here. Left behind when the rest of the building was stripped and abandoned.
I rub my hands together as I step into the freezer, already anticipating the chill. Stocking the freezer is probably on of my least favorite jobs at work, especially in winter. In the summer, it can be relaxing: the cool air welcome as you slip into the monotony of hand over hand, feeding product onto the shelves. In the winter, the chill seeps into your bones.
Everything he was given, was earned.
It was a simple slip of his tongue, a mistake made in a moment that changed every moment after. He saw the blood rush to her face, her cheeks blooming in an emotion he could imagine but not know - anger? Embarrassment? Hurt? Most likely a slurried mess of all three. What's in a name? Sometimes, everything.
It's cramped and suffocating, this small dark space. I try very hard to keep calm, to remember to breath. Panicking will get me nowhere. Unfortunately I've always had a problem with enclosed spaces - elevators, windowless rooms, you name it,
Ombre. Man. Male. A word that describes 50% of the world, and doesn't describe it at all. It means as much as tall, and as little. It's a loaded word in any language, but all it does is describe. Plain, dappled, ochre, plump. Rich and meaningless.
"I was chosen." These words were in my head constantly as a child, though I had no real concept of what they meant. "Everyone's here for a reason," I would be told. Or, "You're the kind of kid who'll do great things." It seemed like it was something given: the world was going to change because I was in it.
So what happened?
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