Fiction Fragment 2.4
The next installation of this ongoing narrative is here for good or ill. Hopefully, by this point it is more clear that this story is actually going somewhere. Indeed that is, hard though it may be to believe, my intention. This piece forms part of the second chapter, the three previous parts of which can be found here (where you'll also find links to the first chapter), here, and here. As always, comments and suggestions are welcome. That's what it's here for.
And then you were everywhere, and everything -- every wall, every memory, every ragged breath was full of you. I lay bleeding in a dark and empty room, remembering. I remembered circling that big brick smokestack in wonder, meeting you on the other side, both of us speechless. I remembered pitching our tent and looking for food. I remembered a smokestack lighthouse, you standing on top. Or were you just smoke then, being absorbed into an empty sky? I remembered waking up with you in my eyes -- I desired you then, and chased you, and fell.
Were you here now, watching me?
The thought caused me to rise and stand urgently -- your remembrance infused me with fresh energy, and an effective distraction from the pain. This new position, after finding my feet and willing myself to stay conscious, allowed me to see an opening in the wall, hidden from me before. But my relief at this good fortune was cut short by my amazement at what I saw there in the opening: a fat orange cat, complete and apparently unremarkable in every respect. After a few moments of confusion, the first of many mysteries was solved, for the cat trotted through the passageway and immediately turned a corner. It stopeed, familiarly. Then it turned around and looked at me, only its head in sight, before continuing on down the dank passage.
Of course I followed, still unsteady but thinking no longer of food or rest -- thinking only of you.
And then you were everywhere, and everything -- every wall, every memory, every ragged breath was full of you. I lay bleeding in a dark and empty room, remembering. I remembered circling that big brick smokestack in wonder, meeting you on the other side, both of us speechless. I remembered pitching our tent and looking for food. I remembered a smokestack lighthouse, you standing on top. Or were you just smoke then, being absorbed into an empty sky? I remembered waking up with you in my eyes -- I desired you then, and chased you, and fell.
Were you here now, watching me?
The thought caused me to rise and stand urgently -- your remembrance infused me with fresh energy, and an effective distraction from the pain. This new position, after finding my feet and willing myself to stay conscious, allowed me to see an opening in the wall, hidden from me before. But my relief at this good fortune was cut short by my amazement at what I saw there in the opening: a fat orange cat, complete and apparently unremarkable in every respect. After a few moments of confusion, the first of many mysteries was solved, for the cat trotted through the passageway and immediately turned a corner. It stopeed, familiarly. Then it turned around and looked at me, only its head in sight, before continuing on down the dank passage.
Of course I followed, still unsteady but thinking no longer of food or rest -- thinking only of you.
posted by Matthew at 5:36 PM
1 Comments:
Your words are like poetry, poetry that forces me to slow down and relish each mysterious phrase.
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