This piece I wrote, again for a creative writing class. It still needs some work, but at the time I liked the flow and the direction it was going. Like anything I write I feel the emotion behind the prose.
I sit at my computer alone, dazed by the unfriendly glare of the 15-inch screen before me. My ears filled with the angst of a bittersweet classical piece, the orchestral movement jumping through my mind like an angry, awry child selfishly demanding my attention. The slip of a curious thumb strokes the dial, pulling it slowly, searching for a new song ... searching ... searching. I can't seem to find the music tonight. The clock ticks another minute. Another uncomfortably empty night in this aging, pale skin I call my body. Feeling like I'm waiting for something ... for nothing ... a change.
The clock just keeps on ticking, though, running past me as I fall behind, feeling uncertain and apprehensive of the future that awaits me. What future? I wonder. Will it be better than this?
Seven hours until dawn. Thumbing through the dial again, ah, yes, the music. My hand pauses at the echoing overtones of a hammer dulcimer ringing out a melancholic ballad. Beautiful.
I sip at the warming glass of milk that sits in a lonely corner on the desk. The nosy head of my cat rises to glance at me, his tail gently flipping back and forth against the bottom of the windowsill in which he peacefully rests, enjoying the somber, cool breeze that wafts in. Thoughtfully, I wander over to him, pouring a small puddle of milk onto the dry, white paint as he sniffs and dips his graying whiskers into it, lapping it up. My fingers slide across his furry, dark striped back.
"You're getting old, my friend." I smile at him. "My sweet, little friend." And I wonder if he'd be lonely without me. Would I be the lonely one?
The music finds me again. A new piece, more inspiring than the first. I crouch back in my chair, slightly swaying, back and forth. My mind drifts, dreaming of a lover - someone to share the music with - a partner that aches to dance as much as I. I imagine the smooth, silken lines in his warm smile, the tips of fingers, strong and slightly callused, melting into mine. His lips, full, red, and moist, and the taste of his kiss like seeping, drizzled honey pouring into my mouth. His are eyes of a man who holds strong, the spirit of the child, innocent, curious, daring, and free in his arms. I see this lover so clearly. I know his face well for I have dreamed of him many times. I wonder if this lover dances? Does he show his porcelain face to the moon, his bare feet playfully teasing the small patch of grass that sets his stage? Does he desire the freedom to be ... just be alive? No, alive! Setting the spirit free to wander, to feel, to experience everything that it is and everything that it aches to be. Does he know the dance the way I do? Maybe...
A tiring eye catches the clock once more. It's getting late. Hmm ... perhaps I should ... no. I don't want to go to sleep yet! Dreaming again ... this lover. I wonder if he knows? Can he sense the way I desire him? To touch him, feel the sacred embrace of that imagined body. To feel my tiny self wrapped in his strong, comfortable arms? I should never have told him of my dreams. I shouldn't want to have spoiled them with the defeat of reality.
I grab a smoke from the crumbled, half-empty pack lying on the desk. A thin flame leaps up from a red lighter, seducing the end of my cigarette as I listen to the short, whispering crackles as it burns. Inhale ... exhale ... pause ... A rambling thought ... Returning to the music ... pause ... inhale ... breathe.
My mind enters the springtime. The plush yellows and greens of tall, fresh-sunburned grass and wild, flowery groves of lilacs laughing out over winding hills and white birch. My toes tread lightly through, careful not to crush the flowers. I skip along with the breeze, wishing I could become it. Becoming the breeze ... hmm ... invisible, powerful, and empty of all but air. How I'd pass through everything with such grace and ease. The freedom - a freedom I'll never touch with my human skin. Imagining. My lover calls for me from a wide cluster of forest pines in the distance. Yes lover, I'm coming. Full speed and light feet, I dash, greeting him with the exuberance of a child's embrace. "I have so missed my handsome prince." He smiles at me.
Enter reality. Damn! I lose my vision, calculating the hours I've wasted in these fantasies. Foolish, foolish, foolish! I curse. Or is it? I don't know anymore. I have done everything to escape the bland, unfulfilling existence of a world that denies its dreams. Good job. Nice car. With Suburban home and the customary white picket fence, 2.5 (or have the statistics changed?) children and a dog. Social gatherings, career networking, the droning, repetitive days and nights, working, homework, eating, bathing, TV, a kiss goodnight, and sleep, over and over and over again. Am I due for a paid week's vacation yet? Always fearful of gray, thinning hair and wrinkle creams. Four prescriptions, forty years, a retirement fund, the faded, chipped, white picket fence.
"I'm getting old, my friend." My hand strokes the prickly, soft spikes of a playful old cat’s fur. My future? It’s going to be better than that.
I snap back in fear of such thoughts. Who said I had to follow the rules? Who said I had to be like everyone else? Who made the rules, anyway? I just want to dance. Just want to dance! Slipping into the careless rhythms and whispers of the music, humming through my body, rattling my aching bones. I wait for it to gush through my winding veins like a crimson thunder; sounding and crashing within me, breaking me of my inhibitions and the many fears I've deceived myself with for so long. I stumble on bare knees to the floor. I can feel it - the emptiness that aches to be filled, the waves of my pain rolling through me like a relentless, ripping tide - these merciless waters of my soul. Set me free! Damn you world! Damn you for the way I ache! Damn you for your hatred! Damn me for hating your hate! I crumble - a shaken, frightened, little girl. I am broken.
Then, the music comes. I look up through the blur of teary, stinging eyes to see my lover's hand, extending.
"Stand up, Princess. Tonight, we dance."
I reach for the care of his gentle arms, slowly pulling my body up to him. Aware of the anxious tremble in my knees, I follow him out into the pitch, empty darkness outside. Stepping out ... our bare feet taking the moonlit stage, the charcoal black silhouettes of trees applauding our courage. His fingers brush over my eyes, softly closing them. I imagine the music, fading in, growing louder, filling my head, and stirring my soul.
"Enter me." A long, breathless sigh escapes. "Every part of me." My eyes open, catching his curious stare as it wanders all over me. His feet move closer. His eyes fixed, penetrating me. My eyes slip to a soft squint. I feel the trace of light fingertips across my cheek as my body releases itself to him - to the music - to the freedom of my open stage. Like a feather floating through a whistling breeze, my limbs lift through the air, pulled by the tugs of rhythms and sounds and the flooding emotions that cleanse and roam through my blood. Experiencing ... him. Experiencing ... me.
"I am not afraid." I've found the music. In a careless, courageous spin, I take my lover's hand. "Inhale ... exhale ... breathe..." Learning to dance
3 comments:
Isn't escapism fun! I love that idea of escaping to your dream. An impossible interaction made possible. I loved this Angel. Loved it. XXX
Aww Pikey, so much of my ability to hold on to my sanity as a young child and girl was wrapped up in fantasy and escapism. Purely a self preservation mechanism. It is a habit that has comforted me my whole life, even when I knew I was safe, and felt secure. My mind took me places one could only dream about, I was every element of life, fire, wind, air, water. I was the child, the parent, the poorest, the richest, I was butterflies, fairies and beautiful princesses sitting in ivory towers waiting for her Knight.
To say its fun is an understatement for me :)))) I am glad you enjoyed the read. Thank you :))
Angel - Can you see me? I'm learning to dance!
THIS was gobsmackingly beautiful and very well written. So different from your other peice above. You have the touch, the talent for this kind of writing Angel. Quicker, faster, moving and, well, just dancing those words, those emotions, those sentiments and those lovely images across the page! You made my day!
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