He is on a slippery, sloping roof. Confident of his grip, he stares at the trees, willing himself to see the forest. Connections were never his strong suit, but he knows they are there. He has paid large sums for an eye operation which made all the colours brighter, stronger, thus making the world look like a collage pieced together from wrapping paper and paint magazines. When he complained, he had been offered his money back, but he could not stand the smell of mildew from the notes.
It begins to rain and the raindrops hiss all around him. Ignoring their threats, he pokes out his tongue and tastes several, before he looks from the clouds to the trees to the roof and back to the trees and wonders what could bind these things together.
He makes a frame with his fingers and thumbs and looks at the world in this new way, slipping slightly as soon as he lets go of the roof. He picks up speed, reaches the end of the roof, tumbles over the side and the sky and the trees and the house become one big blur to his eyes.
JSD
/ February 21, 2014And I want let out one big scream!
W. R. Woolf
/ February 21, 2014Hopefully, I don’t sound sadistic when I say that that makes me happy…
Every time someone reads one of my texts and feels something, I feel like I’ve won a little bit.
JSD
/ February 22, 2014đŸ™‚