Shift of Perspective

Thanks for taking the time to read this.. hope you enjoy it!

P.S. the punctuation I use (or not use) serves a function in my story.
Lower case letter starts a new paragraph that indicates a change in
perspective.

shift of Perspective

The howling winter wind cut through his jacket as if the threads were
cold thin silk. The earth was inexorably seduced to rotate on its axis
once again for another day to unfold. Lisson endured most of the day
aimlessly walking the city streets; parts of him were nearly numb from
the frigid air. He felt as if the weight of the universe was pressing
on the seams of him, forcibly folding and collapsing his existence onto
itself. Lisson's dissatisfaction with life grew with each day like
weeds with a vengeance around an old abandoned shed.

He walked faster and harder as his thoughts flooded in. Like raging
white water rapids that carve their own paths, Lisson's thoughts had a
life of their own. a sensation of detachment and anxiety beset him. The
beats of his heart accelerated, his pace quickened, and he gathered
momentum in strides. He began to hallucinate wildly.

from the inside corner of a beautiful human eye, tears descend downward
over contours of a smooth, dark-skinned face. The young woman, walking
the sidewalk of the suburb, seems to possess magnetism for the ravaging
traumas of life. The sound of impact was a rude departure from the
relative quiescence of the comfortable spring day. The noise was
sonorously loud and unholy; and it continued for seconds, contorting
itself from a thundering crunch to the aftermath of dragging high
pitched metal screams.

Soft manicured hands of the young woman rest over her nose and mouth,
concealing an expression of unquestionable horror. Her large brown eyes
dart back and forth in confusion, as if hoping to see help arrive only
seconds after what she has witnessed. Her thoughts leap across time and
space, as she wonders about the safety of her two little boys, ages 5
and 7, her parents, and the father of her children. Later that day, her
children would greet her lovingly and warmly when she arrived home;
although, the woman would be haunted by ghosts of recollection that
were disturbingly vivid.

without a capable memory, each moment disintegrates almost as quickly
as it unravels. This experience is all the minuscule six-legged
creature knows in his existence. Late afternoon sounds echo in often
baritone blows, as he meticulously discriminates between the array of
vibrations, forming the patterns he makes sense of. His motion is light
and swift; his legs puncturing pinpoint sized holes in the beach sand.
He moves effortlessly, unable to recognize the intricate architecture
of the form beneath legs like muscled eyelashes.

The faint wind glides off the surface of the water; it displaces
thousands of tiny grains of sand from the castle walls, but the
aesthetic marvel appears unchanged. The enigmatic little creature
breathes vitality; it is one of his first days emerging from the last
stage of his development. His eyes detect the collage of movement and
life teeming around him. A myriad of souls walk past the small sand
sculpted phenomenon. Many stop to appreciate the perfection of the
elaborately detailed structure. It is a microcosm of ephemeral
beauty.

a tear descends downward over the contours of smooth pale skin, as the
disheartened man stares blankly through the haze of the unwashed
window. The outstretched light of the morning sun delivers unwanted
heat that foreshadows the coming of a searing hot August day. For
thirteen months, a man who is chronologically in his 'prime' has
endured life in a mental institution. Nearly two years before, the
opaquely mysterious symptoms of schizophrenia emerged. He began to
suffer from perplexing delusions that made his reality seem nebulous
and unreal.

He turned his back to the abstruse world beyond the window; the
intensity of the gleaming sun intimidated the troubled man. With his
head and spirit downcast, he crawled piteously back into his bed, as if
it were his grave. He lay motionless and stiff; closing his clear green
eyes to decipher the inscrutable code embedded on the inside of his
eyelids. Weary eyes close, and the portal to an adjacent world
opens.

thoughts step in to the skin of another; he becomes a minute entity,
and an insignificant observer of his former life. He now moves
effortlessly across the wind-blown structure, each tiny step being
merely a soft but exact whisper of a movement. Thin, gossamer wings
brush against the interior walls of the castle; wings that can carry
him to witness what he could not otherwise see.

it is early September, and visits to the institution become less and
less frequent for the woman and her two children. The young woman
increasingly worries about how it will affect the boys to continue
seeing their estranged
father; their confusion often manifests in angry behavior. The woman
bottles the unrelenting pain and disappointment of once seemingly
invincible love fading into unknown shadows. She stares pensively into
the deep blue expanse of ocean, momentarily neglecting her
responsibility of watching the vigorous play of her youthful
offspring.

The faint wind glides off the surface of the water; it is late
afternoon in the twilight of the summer solstice. The woman calls to
the two boys, who now
appear, at a distance, to be throwing sand and shells near the ocean's
edge. As she hurries to redirect them, the oldest runs furiously
through a magnificent castle of sand, demolishing what had stood proud
and unscathed. Far from audible detection, the brutal violence of a
diminutive crunch takes the life from a minuscule six-legged winged
creature. Several miles away, a lonely and delusional man, imprisoned
by inescapable mental persecution, feels a part of himself die.

it is early spring in the suburbs, outside the bustling pace of the
nearby urban setting. Lisson had endured the harsh winter with nothing
but sympathy for himself. His thoughts drifted off, pushed
apathetically by melancholy winds, as he maneuvered his car back
towards the city. Gradually slowing for the light's signal of red, he
noticed a young woman walking on the sidewalk alone, supporting the
weight of a despondent expression. He identified with the woman and her
expression, as he flashed back to wintry and passionless days of
traversing the city streets. The light shifted to green; Lisson pressed
firmly on the pedal, as the vehicle started forward. Out of the corner
of his eye, he perceived a massive, menacing red blur hurtling
ferociously towards him. Time seemed to accelerate at a murderous pace
for what was merely a nanosecond before the eighteen wheeler plowed
into&;#8230;

he awakened abruptly to the lucid beaming rays of the solace of the
morning sun. Lisson opened his eyes anew to discover a second chance at
life. He realized that life could deal an arduous hand, but that it is
short, and it is all you have. He was shaken by the tremendous
intensity of the alarmingly vivid dream; although, he would be forever
enlightened by the brilliant insight he would seize from it. For the
first time in a very long while, Lisson radiated optimism and a
generous smile.