Eternal
By
- 750 reads
The sliding glass doors open with a swish, the cool night air
breathes into the tiny room containing only a sleeper couch, a plastic
table and chair and a cabinet containing minimal clothing and an old
fashioned microwave oven. A doorframe leads into another tiny room
containing a fridge and a few stairs. At the top of these stairs lies
another two doors, one leading into a small bathroom and the other
leading into the Main House.
A pair of bare feet touch onto the cold concrete and step
outside.
The darkness swirls around her and she shiveres, memories of her
childhood swirling into her mind.
Behind her eyes, monsters under the bed and screams, shadows hiding in
the shadows and back against the wall.
Before her the dark shimmers like the blade of a knife.
Closing her eyes, the knife is gone, but the darkness remains.
She steps further into the night.
Emerging from beneath the shadow of the over-hang of the roof, pale
dusty moonlight washes over her.
Swirling images of monsters and murders, ghosts and nightmares.
Looking up, the stars shimmer like diamonds pressed into the bruised
skin of the night sky.
The moon glows faintly green, reminding her of a sci-fi movie she once
watched.
The sky is beautiful, reminding her of velvet. She could imagine that
velvet changing colour. She pictured herself in Paris, the sky a rich
purple velvet, like the passion of the French; she pictured herself in
England, the sky a deep blue velvet, like the Royal status of the kings
and queens.
She looked at the sky above her now. In Africa the sky is a mixture of
all the nightime colours of the world.
In Africa the sky is indigo-grey velvet, dusty and dry and if you look
at it right up close to the moon, it changes colour right before your
very eyes.
Just around the edges of the full moon it's the colour of the deepest
part of the ocean on a cloudy day when you're in a dream, soaring only
inches away from the surface of the water without anythign holding you
back, without any fear that your swift flight will come to an end and
that you may fall into the icy water.
The colour of the sky in Africa can only be called eternal.
Swirling images of her twelve year old cousin, bouncing around with a
spaghetti strainer on her head, a towel fastened around her shoulders
and a wooden spoon in her hand.
"I'm SuperWoman!!"
Don't be silly, you're wearing kitchen utensils. Aren't you a bit old
to be pretending?
"I might be silly, but pretending isn't"
It's silly to pretend you're super woman. You're gonna save the world
with a wooden spoon?
"Pretending isn't silly. It's wonderful. When you're pretending, you
can be whatever you want to be, wherever you wnat to be, whenever you
wish to be it. All you have to do is let your imagination fly, like in
your dreams.
Cold feet step onto the shoddy rug.
The sliding glass swish closed, the cool night air rushing to get
free.
Climbing under the scratchy sheets, her head touches the pillow.
Swirling images of shooting stars and green cheese, good dreams and
dawn at the end of the tunnel.
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