Sky's point of viewA Story by fracturedblue
The wind scrapes in, cuts. Handles, Knobs, cupboards all make sharp voices and pretend they all exist. When the light curves in around my ribs, I think of empty homes, all founded into their living without hearts. If you hear their heartbeat call, its only imitation. On the desk, dust covers photographs and other painful things I have tuned away from. From the next room, a fight resonates. Crashes and words hurling against the flaking wallpaper, even. Prosper's television is on too loud again. If it were in real life, I'd want it to stop, but I think if I disturb a lifeline, something from my lifeline will pour into theirs. The radio springs in a gin blossoms song. Its from the 90's and I want to live in its timeline. Its downfalls and laughter hook in my veins. I decide I'm going to flower into sleep the whole day, not moving so I can be so still and calm that tragedies move past me thinking I'm only a shadow of the sun. But the phone rings and I think of Ace. A cloud of his laughter lights up in my stomach and I wonder if I should pick it up. Because if its him, and I don't pick up, he'll know something's wrong. Prosper knocks and enters my room. '-Sky!' Prosper and I stare at Ace as he goes into a frenzy, and takes out the spare bike from the garage. I sit behind Prosper on his bike and delve in the stirring of engines grumbling in the air. The afternoon sun peers at us, the rest of the sky already being painted into blue. Already I can feel winter approaching. The wind is turning sinister, its song almost rising into a whining, nature's grief sounding everywhere. I tighten my grip on Prop's shoulders as I'm not used to riding bikes as frequently as the guys. Ace gives me a smile and takes off, leaving behind a hurl of dust. 'Sky, are you-' Prosper starts. Disappointment flaps its wings against his expectant face. Prosper retreats into a shell till the bike under us grows livid, its energy swelling against the faint matrimony of the land and air. As we reach the highway, Ace flashes into sight. Maybe I am looking for something beyond the static haze into which my future had been stitched. It is there, barely visible, the faint outline of a possibility and I tell my heart that there is no need to be hopeful but it won’t listen.
© 2009 fracturedblueAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on February 17, 2009 Last Updated on February 17, 2009 AuthorfracturedbluebahrainAbout16. female. life. daydreaming. music. writing. the 90s. poetry. tea. hoodies. thinking. talking. sylvia plath. black. silence. stars. sky. trees. learning. sad songs. the goo goo dolls. .. more..Writing
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