11 April 2012
This is the beginning of a short story I'm writing about a man figuring out the rest of his life....
I left home for the first time since the accident. The morning breeze was cold, it left me with chilled bones that wouldn't mellow. I had been stuck in the house for 10 months or so,, sometimes not knowing the date or time. The wall clock in the kitchen died about a week after my incarceration and I couldn't bare to open the curtains, which had yellowed slightly under the stress of my increasing smoking habit.
Something told me to get out that day, I don't know what it was but I definitely felt something. As I walked along the deserted street, a sliver of sun crept over the tall peaks of the old gothic train station. The light dazzled me, reducing my pupils to pinpricks. I felt as though the warm touch of the sun energised me, as though it spread a fire inside me and fuelled me for whatever the day would bring. I couldn't begin to think what that could be, I didn't have a plan, I didn't know where I was going. I was following my feet.
Time passed and the morning breeze swirled into the afternoon bringing with it a light shower. The rain wasn't cold but it sent shivers through me, I was still delicate to the elements. I could hear children playing to my left, their voices sounded close but when I turned to see them, they weren't there. I could still hear them so I presumed they were in their back garden. I heard a soft female voice call them in because it was raining.
I was bewildered and astonished by all the noise and all the people, I wasn't used to any of this anymore. Some folk just stared at me as I walked past them, I realise now that I must've looked a state with my unkempt hair, months worth of growth on my face and the shifty eyes of someone who hasn't been outside for a long time.
Plane • Opuss № I