Thursday, August 17, 2006
room service
She steps into the room, she's home now. Even in it's finest detail, everything is perfect, just the way she wanted it. It was hers for the night and nothing could change that. She opens her cupboard and lets her fingertips wander from shelf to shelf while she quietly calculates her next step. The room is big, the lights are dim, the carpet is soft and warm. She then collects her candles, small brandy and perfume bottles and arranges them in pairs of three. Alcohol for the illusion, candles for the light and perfumes for the memories. They are placed on every windowsill of the room, first the brandy, the candle next to it, and then the perfume. Together they will stand and make magic. She lies in the middle of the room and sinks into the carpet design, quietly and effortlessly.
Her eyes close slowly as she's twisting her hair in curls until they take their permanent form and her fingers give up. Now asleep, everything is carefully falling into place, in order like pictures on film. All she has to do is pick the one she likes and relive that memory.
They walk and leave footprints behind as the water comes and washes away what they wanted to last. He holds her hand and they walk, but this time she pulls away and walks a half step faster, he slows down and lets her walk ahead and he slowly walks behind, left to wonder why, how and when? He watches her hair dance in the wind. He just stares at her with a heavy heart. Why did she pull away, why not let him tell her the future? Perhaps she already knew of the future, and walking through this memory was the only way to change it. For better or for worse, till this memory did them part.
It's morning and she closes the gate to memory lane, her eyes open just in time to witness the magic she so fondly prepared for. The sunrays creep through the window into the brandy and perfume bottles and as in simple physics, light is refracted and dances around the room until all bottles have light coming through them. Slowly the dancing light centers itself staring down at her, she will make of it what she will and see her destiny.
As a tear makes its way out, she rises and grabs the telephone to call for room service. Suddenly the line goes dead, the candles go out, the perfume and brandy bottles disappear, the room is now devoid of perfection. Her hair has turned grey and the curtains are torn, with windows broken.
The phone receiver still in her hand, she twists her hair looks up and stares through the torn but dancing curtains. The broken windows with their sharp edges let air come and leave painfully.
Only to help her start something new.
2 Comments:
hayehaye.
so depressing
yet so bootiful.
i saw some of your pictures and really liked them. good work!:)
