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Tuesday, November 18, 2008


"It's raining agian
loud on your car
like bullets on tin."

The spoon inside last nights coffee cup rattled as the bass kicked in on my stereo, the time, six am, filled my room with an unearthly glow. Outside the only light came from a winter crescent moon, its silver light passed on to the clouds, trees and grass like a disease. I lay in bed for a few moments watching the tree tops sway back and forth, as the wind picked up its speed it gained a howling voice as it squeezed itself through the cracks in my one room cabin. A sharp snap like bones cracking almost made me sick to my stomach as the green glow of my stereo disappeared and relative silence regained its presence. What was the point of paying for electricity when it only worked reliably for four months out of the year. Darkness was creeping in as purple clouds, like angry bruises, began to cover the sky. The sun’s repression their mandate.
Clumsily I found the light button on my watch, ten after six, I swung numbed legs over the side of my cot, its regular protesting creeks and squeaks silenced by the crashing rain that had begun to bombard the earth, every drop making its own crater in the thawing ground. I pulled on jeans and a t shirt then groped about in the darkness until I found a sweatshirt hanging over the back of my orange and green couch, I was glad the miracle of power had been taken away as it conveniently hid the dizzying paisley swirls. I could barely hear myself curse over the deafening roar of rain as I stubbed my right toes on a corner of the frozen iron stove. Squinting into the darkness I found my lighter and the box of kindling, after some pleading and coaxing I succeeded in lighting a half charred log on fire. With the discovery of light once again I became aware of a sudden change, I stood for a moment in front of the stove pondering this, trying desperately to regain feeling in various places. I turned and began my journey of five steps towards the kitchen in search of my kettle, the floorboards creaking beneath my winter weight, I froze. Silence had again returned, slipping unfeeling feet into damp hiking boots I barged through the front door and into a blinding world. Almost every trace of shadow was gone, hidden beneath a blanket of the purest white, tinted orange by the first rays of a winter sun.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

There's so much I like about your writing. In this one, I especially like this "Darkness was creeping back in as purple clouds, like angry bruises, began to cover the sky; the sun’s repression their mandate."

You certainly have a way with words!