Tree On Flesh: Chapter 1; FLORAL-PATTERNED CHAIRS

The cool, icy wind blew in some leaves that fell lightly onto the keys of the piano. Nothing like the feel of melted Casio keys made me feel better. As I recall, I had just finished playing some corny little song about love and hearts; I was growing tired of challenging myself. And as I reached for the solid, heavy cover of for the keys, I noticed a small puncture on my finger, most likely caused by the lamp that had smashed on my floor earlier that evening. As it occurred, the pieces smashed right onto my left foot and hands as I attempted to pick up the pieces.

            The cold stone floor of my father’s new house was icy from the February winds that were cast in through the large, open door to the yard. Only my father’s burly hands could pry the stick that held the door from closing, so I was forced to withstand the sub-zero winds that winter had left over. All the while, though, the cold stone felt good on the frayed flesh of my foot.

            Glancing down at the deep red velvet of the piano seat, I shivered my way into the kitchen in search of food; a sandwich that was left over from last night’s dinner. The freezer’s draftiness was almost as cold as the air outside. As I grabbed for the frozen sandwich, I scurried as quickly as possible to get out of the iciness. As I shut the door wearily from a lack of 2 day’s sleep, I tossed the sandwich on the long wooden table to thaw while I rested my eyes in hopes of a cat-nap at the least. My brown wavy hair fell in tufts onto the spiffy glass that Dad always required perfect. In search of the remote, I waved my hand fecklessly around the table. Finally, I got hold of it, flicking on a channel that remained from the 11 o’ clock news last night.

            “In other news, the United Kingdom warns on food cost inflation.” A woman from BBC News announced.

All I could do was press my red-hot flesh against the glass, probably leaving marks that would bother Dad later. I guess it was the sound of the News that lulled me off to sleep, for when I’d opened my eyes finally Dad was home and working at cleaning around me as he sprayed the cleaner onto the table.