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Literature Text
Retreat is quiet and swift. I sit up, soft sheets falling around my hips as I blink blue depths, ever staring in the distance. Like the sparklers' story, it is fading before my eyes with sparks dying, though I saw its brilliance but moments ago. Stumbling out of bed in a daze, I try to grasp hold of Time’s retreating veil. He is too fast for me.
I must find the pieces of my dream. Each spark of it slipped out of consciousness and between the cracks of reality in mere seconds. Tearing at the earth, I stretch and reach, longing to skim the tips of my fingers along their rippling frames. The ritual of it all consumes my waking moments.
But before I know it, the sun spins her dance among the clouds, finally taking her bow into the horizon. She retreats into the waking realm as the stars take their cue. They open the gates and the obsidian waters cascade over the sky, trickling onto my world. I look to the ground again, my dream faintly glowing as sparks crackle and leap into life. So close…
Desire consumes me and I bite my lip, the tang of copper a small consequence. I reach into the fracture of this world, ever holding us down with her gravity. Feeding on the darkness, the sparks flare up and scald my fingers. Recoiling for but a moment, I wrap my hand around them and pull them from within the hidden depths.
They burn my skin with their power and life. With proof that my imagination has produced reality, I throw the burning fire up and into the ebony above, the sparks exploding into heavenly beauty, their ghostlike traces dancing and racing together in reconstruction. Ceruleans, violets, and burgundy all spin together. My arms raised and my eyes closed I hear the crackling and popping as of the sparkler. Suddenly an outline glows on the other side of my eyelids for a moment and then a flash of light.
It is dark now. I smile slowly and drop my arms as I feel a touch on my check. The touch is gentle, the warmth of it spreading amongst my nerve endings. I lift my hands and place them upon his chest and slowly open my eyes to gaze into eyes of white fire.
In but one breath I am sitting up in bed, the sheets around my hips, gazing into the morning sun. The traces of him are already fading as the light bleeds into the night, the sparkler trail dies… and as Time forsakes us all.
I must find the pieces of my dream. Each spark of it slipped out of consciousness and between the cracks of reality in mere seconds. Tearing at the earth, I stretch and reach, longing to skim the tips of my fingers along their rippling frames. The ritual of it all consumes my waking moments.
But before I know it, the sun spins her dance among the clouds, finally taking her bow into the horizon. She retreats into the waking realm as the stars take their cue. They open the gates and the obsidian waters cascade over the sky, trickling onto my world. I look to the ground again, my dream faintly glowing as sparks crackle and leap into life. So close…
Desire consumes me and I bite my lip, the tang of copper a small consequence. I reach into the fracture of this world, ever holding us down with her gravity. Feeding on the darkness, the sparks flare up and scald my fingers. Recoiling for but a moment, I wrap my hand around them and pull them from within the hidden depths.
They burn my skin with their power and life. With proof that my imagination has produced reality, I throw the burning fire up and into the ebony above, the sparks exploding into heavenly beauty, their ghostlike traces dancing and racing together in reconstruction. Ceruleans, violets, and burgundy all spin together. My arms raised and my eyes closed I hear the crackling and popping as of the sparkler. Suddenly an outline glows on the other side of my eyelids for a moment and then a flash of light.
It is dark now. I smile slowly and drop my arms as I feel a touch on my check. The touch is gentle, the warmth of it spreading amongst my nerve endings. I lift my hands and place them upon his chest and slowly open my eyes to gaze into eyes of white fire.
In but one breath I am sitting up in bed, the sheets around my hips, gazing into the morning sun. The traces of him are already fading as the light bleeds into the night, the sparkler trail dies… and as Time forsakes us all.
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Holy Crow! A piece that isn't depressing! Let me know if you like it.
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Comments4
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I liked it. But also, for the record. I like your depressing stuff you know. Most of the best writing is suicide watch material.
Also, as always I love that you don't stick to mediocrity when using color. Anyone can pull out a crayon. You use paint, oil even...and it makes the imagination want to see what was worded, more brightly than it is on paper.
Good job chief
Also, as always I love that you don't stick to mediocrity when using color. Anyone can pull out a crayon. You use paint, oil even...and it makes the imagination want to see what was worded, more brightly than it is on paper.
Good job chief