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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A stream of consciousness about a simple stroll.

Submitted: September 15, 2012

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Submitted: September 15, 2012



A putrescent salamander run over days ago spine still visible, people killed in Middle Eastern embassies, a recently shriveled slug mere inches away from the safety of a tree's shade, still fresh memories of falling towers and burning men women children ten or more years ago, with it the sound of a youngish New York band emulating eighties afropop made in the USA. Everything merges together, topsy-turvy, memories snapshots hopes dreams illusions fears, he walks under a sky blue sky, a fading summer strangely feeling like late spring, air crisp and fresh, all seems brilliant innocent fey even though it's the same in the rain. Walking where the cats are, no cats today, walking past an old love's home, no emotion, past a new love's home, no one there, the air evoking his time with another, and still the afropop made in the USA always itching to change the soundtrack never doing it. Letting the music run its course. New tunes reminding him of another unfulfilled love, still no emotion, sun approaching west yet no drop in brilliance. Past the old football ground so often deserted and misused, slugs on the ground, alive, exchanging stares with a new cat, shuffle in the fallen leaves, wind or salamander, never before seen children playing ball on the old football ground, sun and blue and nature still brilliant innocent fey, walking still. Through it all, life death despair hopes dreams nostalgia music loves found and lost, he thinks the clear thought that life is good.

© Copyright 2018 Matt Lee. All rights reserved.

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