Imaginative Piece. Based Upon the Themes of Skin
I glanced out of the train window, watching the scenery speed away. Mighty oaks, bristling firs and radiant maple trees were all transformed into no more than colourful pins. The seat beside me lay vacant, as what once sat a wonderful and lovely gentleman, no longer shares with me the long trip home. I stare at the endless mass of space, overshadowing the Earth. The grey radiant clouds, together, began to form a distinctive image of his face, shaping his luminous smile almost to an exact. The subconscious image the clouds attempted to portray, vanished in a matter or seconds, as the white, thick clouds, spread its wings in what was forecasted to be a destructive path. Witnessing this brings me back to the day God wept a silent rain among the mournful souls.
***
As the sky gave up the last of its tears, I felt my hands lose the grip of the umbrella as it sway with the gush of wind. Many in black stood before the empty space, grieving for him. The deep soil stood out from the acres of green clear land, surrounding the Parish building, awaiting to be complete with what was to decay in it forever. My mother’s arm clutches me tightly as she grieves for her husband’s death. Almost to the floor, I struggle to keep balance as my mother pulls me to the ground with her. The flowers frail, drooping their usual morning dew, paying respect for the dead, with children weeping, as their tears flow like a never ending waterfall of depression.
***
For seventeen years, I called it home. For seventeen years I lived a life surrounded by adoring family members. Now, this is all a distant memory. It was the house in which my life became estranged: trying to hide from the realms of reality while escaping into the fantasy in which I belonged. Now, each time I picture it, it taunts me. It has become a house that beholds my true nightmares…
***
The pull of gravity strains me down against what I mentally envisioned to be pieces of what once was a much loved
***
As the sky gave up the last of its tears, I felt my hands lose the grip of the umbrella as it sway with the gush of wind. Many in black stood before the empty space, grieving for him. The deep soil stood out from the acres of green clear land, surrounding the Parish building, awaiting to be complete with what was to decay in it forever. My mother’s arm clutches me tightly as she grieves for her husband’s death. Almost to the floor, I struggle to keep balance as my mother pulls me to the ground with her. The flowers frail, drooping their usual morning dew, paying respect for the dead, with children weeping, as their tears flow like a never ending waterfall of depression.
***
For seventeen years, I called it home. For seventeen years I lived a life surrounded by adoring family members. Now, this is all a distant memory. It was the house in which my life became estranged: trying to hide from the realms of reality while escaping into the fantasy in which I belonged. Now, each time I picture it, it taunts me. It has become a house that beholds my true nightmares…
***
The pull of gravity strains me down against what I mentally envisioned to be pieces of what once was a much loved