Absolution

there it goes agian

Then, it settled down into the grass; came back up and weaved the trees together, turned the pages and blew his hair. He ran his hand across the wood, turned back to the page he was on as it came from below, rolled through the trees, casting his shadow onto the bed. Receding back in. Shadows where the birds slept. It lifted back up, cool in his hands and over his eyes, over his mouth.

He stood and walked across the opening, drifting at the edge, reaching his hand into the misty darkness. Around and around, back to the center where the movement only surrounded him, where the mist only watched him. The pages turned. The dew settled. The boy set out into the forest.

Through it all was a weight from the air that came down and wrapped around all the plants and trees, holding them up, allowing the soft light to seep in from all sides. As he got closer, the streams began to flow and the birds began to wake and the leaves rustled in a dance that cooled the air as it fell. His hands got warm and his feet got colder and over the stepping stones, he took the path into the home.

Candles hung from the ceiling and swayed gently in the wind as it’s golden rays and beams moved across the wooden walls and melted down onto the rugs, running across and finally building into a fire in the corner of the room where, cast in the red flow, a large figure sat reading a book. It all stuck around, frozen in the morning sun. The fire crept through and let it loose for a few days before the waves would roll in from the valley and freeze the place into the dirt and the mud. The wood would rot and the seasons would change and they walked through and back and through. The fire would burn and the fire would die. The candles would shine and the wind would come in and change the details on the floor and the ceiling and make the place entirely the same from above, but changed completely from inside. The cracks and the lines and the burn marks and the stains and the shadows that hung onto the walls remained, emitting off of the people inside, grasping at their feet and their chests as they marked up the place along their ways. The floor would shift and form like liquid as it flowed around and drowned the light and the time that melted into its body. Yet they sprung out of it, reading and walking and lighting fires.

The boy moved on upstairs.

The light had guided itself through the halls, finding its way into the rooms. It came to the end and bounced back and got soaked up in the wood, bleeding back out as little droplets of water. One room was frozen entirely. Shadows filled it up and made it heavy, weighing it down into the Earth. The fire came and left and the place had, like always, remained the same. It came to life and died quickly and froze the sky into it’s ceiling and melted the sun as it burned the walls and the floors and the bed and the bathtub, leaving particles of cloth and wood floating around, looking for a place to land. It then poured the sun into the next room over, where it burned just the wall, leaving the rest of the room open and clean. She slept in there. Still early. The boy moved on.

The sounds of the stream outside had, at one point, floated up through the breeze and drifted into the larger room, painting it in the blue and calm. Cloth hung from the ceiling and danced like a ghost and she stood as a silhouette behind the first rays of the day’s sun. The stream floating still.

The boy moved into his room where the walls and the floors and the ceiling and the bed and his books and his window and his drawings and his desk and his chair and his closet were all the same. Frozen entirely. Frozen to their places. Cold in the morning. He climbed onto his bed and continued reading while the wind passed through the window.

It trickled in and bloomed in the halls. It flowed and ran down the stairs and into the rugs. It glowed and spilled over the flowers outside. It rose and fell and scarred the walls. It touched the trees and carried on, floating over the forest. They came outside and crossed the stream and watched it go. It stroked up and painted the sky in red. It fell down and poured it into the stream.

They moved into the forest as it went. They continued walking as their feet got tired and sore. Soon it was all behind them. No noise, no heat, nothing. Shadows turned into day. Soon, the birds would go to sleep again.

Author's Note

whoa, hey, okay