Again #8

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
a man struggling to become conscious again

Submitted: December 20, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 20, 2011

A A A

A A A


 

It’s raining, eucalyptus and petrol hanging amongst the water, dense and warm. It’s in my eyes and my nose and my mouth and it keeps going until my whole head is full of a heavy, watery smog. My thoughts become slow like they’re swimming, and weak like they’ve been swimming since the beginning of time. They intercept and overtake and topple one another and it’s all a hopeless mess and I don’t know what to think and I’ve forgotten how and there’s no direction home.

 

*

 

A breeze, cool and tight on my skin. We walk.  It pushes the hair off our faces, behind our shoulders. 

The gum trees whisper around us, trunks dusty and glowing. They tower above us. Guardians. Hide us, keep us safe. They pray the simplest prayer. Compassion. Joy for this tiny salvation; a piece of bush right in the middle of a city. 

Diamonds flash in the grass, reflecting the faintest speculation of sunlight. The sky lit by a thousand thousand stars, reaching to infinity. A million eyes staring from above and below. Suddenly they are blinding me, attacking me, lining up and firing right into my brain and for the first time I can see. For a fleeting moment there are more colours than have ever been seen before and now it is clear, now it is finally clear that all our lives we’ve had our backs turned, that we’ve delighted in the shadows on the walls without ever thinking to turn and face the light.

The stars are falling, smudging down away from the sun. They come to earth as miracles, she says. And it is our duty to find them. We laugh and search, pick through the grass and around the rocks. Miracles. Behind the trees, in the sky, in the bushes, in her eyes. Miracles. Babies are born. People are reborn. 

We run. Lungs gasping, hands tingling, feet pounding, shins aching, hearts racing because we are alive. Miracles. Her mouth, pulled into a smile led by her eyes. Her eyes. Her kind eyes that hold secrets and set others free. Her broken eyes forever intent on the light. Her. Beautiful. Eyes. 

The sun creeps up and the cold creeps away and it’s her eyes. Her powerful eyes. We run to the end,the end where the road starts. We see the city. Lights, cars, buildings, signs and it’s her eyes, 

her eyes showing me. 

She’s beside me and there’s no one else. In the absence of society she’s Eve. Free, honest, she works a spell of serenity so pure that the trees breathe sighs of relief. She doesn’t strive for  knowledge, sees instead our insignificance, our absolute equality to every other thing living.

 

*

 

I want to live near trees. People should always live near trees. Gums taller than buildings 

and scrub that you have to work with rather than destroy. I can see us living on this bit of land. Little house, veggie garden, chickens, a cow.

 

*

 

They say we’re romantics, and you can’t ever get what you want.


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