Life was good. The sun beat down angrily on grey-tan concrete studded with decade-old chewing gum and bug carcasses. The air positively sizzled with the humidity and the chirps of insect choral masses. Grains of stone stuck impudently in her palms as she rocked her weight back to look at the blazing orb in an azure ocean threatening to accept the hand of elegantly rumbling stormclouds promenading from the horizon. Life was good. Her hazel eyes flicked back down the scarred, marred, scraped, scumbled, worn surface of her artwork. She deliberately pressed a nubby finger on the little red bugs crawling haphazardly in every which way, smearing their crimson ooze in harmonious dashes that illustrated the length of their insignificant lifetimes. Storm winds slipped past, catching capriciously at her blouse and hair. An ant crawled laboriously up her arm. Life was good. Cars rolled past, always stopping for some other sap. She let it flow past her like a stubborn grain of sand amidst many in the glass. And she was alone at last.
Thunder clapped, wishing for her to dance to the beat of raindrops and Zephyr's harmony. She consented as the first of the crystal-clear drops fell from the quickly-darkening sky. Her shoes were in the way of the beat- it was more a matter of touch than of hearing and they were too used to the rhythms and cadence of societal restraint. The human set them aside and began again, this time moving to a more primal beat.
The dancer and the storm united. In that moment there was perfection.
Her human side dragged her away. Hair dripping, soaked to the bone, she climbed into the jet land rover that pulled up.
And so society claimed her again. At least she left her shoes.
Life is good.
TempestuousSeas · Thu Apr 26, 2007 @ 12:16am · 0 Comments |