It was if his eyes glazed over, like a lake’s surface in the brim of winter. Face and tears frosted with a chill. Letting the feared air lace up and over the stillness. Everything sounded acoustic. Reflecting and repeating like an image in a mirror. Over and over again. Until the only thing left was his expression. Gaunt and undimmed. But it made sense though, he was the moon.
He sat on the curb, kicking out his feet every few seconds. It was the most amusement he had all day. That – and remembering his awkwardness during his business meeting this morning. “I can’t believe I did that.” He grumbled, cringing at the thought.
“But you did.” said Sam, a fellow co-worker who flopped himself down next to him.
“Don’t start.” He replied.
“It happens.” Sam replied. “I once asked Sarah if she finally got fired after I caught her in the photocopy room crying.”
ironically, if my voice made a sound. i wouldn’t be here. in this place. my throat wouldn’t be soar, my ears wouldn’t cringe, and my brain wouldn’t be wrapped in cotton. Or so I think. if it made a sound that people could hear. it wouldn’t be like the wind exhaling. or sleeping baby’s breath. a silent baby’s cry. it would be me.
Life is made up of all these tiny insignificant moments. Like deducing what you want to have for lunch or what radio station to listen to on your rush hour commute. You see, I have this way I see myself. Myself that said that clever thing in the heat of the moment, or myself that rides off into the sunset on a roaring motorcycle with a camera on my back and an empty notebook stuffed with ambition… but by this point you are most definitely wondering where I am going with this and why I am telling you this. My only answer to you would be a very short, unhelpful response and would be along the lines of I haven’t had breakfast yet. So just don’t forget about your dreams.
It fell heavy. With a sort of depth that made the floor wish it was the sky. Then it was over. The pieces were scattered. The light was gone – the colour ripped into the wood. Scratching at every dust particle and aged texture there was. But really, what am I?
The music matched her raised heartbeat. Thump thump thump. It caught her fears and tugged them out of her ears. Letting her spin with compliance. Her hair spitting around her slight frame, pulled from a thick mass. And there it was again. Thump thump thump