Grey

You made this.

The field is silent. You rest in the center of it all, but not on purpose. Nothing you’ve ever done has been on purpose. An aimless walk through an aimless life, never putting forth your best effort. Not because you can’t. You’re scared. The plants grow over you.

You’ve always danced with two left feet that aren’t your own, but you’ve gone ahead and jived anyway. It doesn’t matter. They shouldn’t care. You hope they don’t; you pretend they don’t. You feel eyes all over you but when you look they rest elsewhere. Perfect figurines posed for a picture. They’re always looking, but so are you. Your lungs fill with vines and petals and pretty things. This should be enough. It isn’t.

An agile stride with broad shoulders and perfect posture. Confident, collected, composed. Outwardly? Reliable. Inwardly? When did the plants start to rot? Did you forget to water them? You’ve always been quite the mess, a disappointment. What a shame.

Shaking fingers grasp fistfuls of grass, but they turn to ash before they can be ripped from the earth. Everything is decaying, the field is gone. You rest in a sea of grey, skin caked in dirt and lungs burning. You exhale smoke and cough fire.

You destroyed this. A strange thought, but not unwelcome. This is something of your own creation, own choice. You feel the eyes of the night sky all over you, but when you look up the stars are gone. All that’s left is grey. You smile, flint teeth flicking against each other and causing sparks.

The grey is filled with laughter.

Reviews

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

This piece is so powerful, eloquent and evocative. "You've always danced with left feet that aren't your own"-great line! The human condition- we try, we fail, we sin by omission and commission, sometimes we do the right thing. We live in glass houses and throw stones. We reap what we sow. "You destroyed this."-indicting and true. Maybe it's not too late to change? Perfectly done!

[Asha]

So rich, I love it! Very dark sir!