literature

In the Sun

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Literature Text

The darkness illuminated his mind and in the dead silence of the room his life was born again.  His mind wondered aimlessly through broken nerves and severed memories, fixing them, bending them to his will.  He felt the itch of having skin, stretching taught over his brittle bones and tentatively noticed the joints in his fingers and toes.  He bent them slightly, feeling the strain and the crunch of the joints rubbing raw against one another.  His muscles strained under the movement, creaky with each grind and turn until it ran up his entire aching arm.   Then, he remembered the black sunken bags falling beneath his eyes, the weariness carried inside them, and the irritating tenderness of their flesh.  His pupils, curious of their surroundings, crept out between the heavy lids and showed themselves to the open air.  He felt the sting of light sink into his retinas.  The sparkling gray color of his irises closed reflexively in fear, like they already knew their newfound fate turned to doom in the golden rays splaying out his bedroom window.
In the sun, in the light, in the lively particles of dust swimming and floating through yellow strand of hair without care, he really remembered.  He remembered his alarm buzzing next to him and the blaring sound it emitted.  He remembered his job, the crinkly plastic grocery bags he opened everyday to store common ordinary products for common ordinary people.  He remembered his old age and the wrinkles on his face and skin.  Then, he remembered his wife.  He remembered her glowing face and the smile playing on it when he proposed.  He also remembered her funeral and the night he spent letting tear after salty tear run and scatter down his cheeks and onto the floor.  
It was then that he cursed the sun, and the light, and the damn dust particles swimming happily through the golden rays.    Because, in their illumination, he died again.
This is something I wrote on a whim in my school library. I accidentally missed the bell and ran to art mumbling apologeticly to my art teacher...who laughed...and told me he would forgive me if I brought him a coffee.

This belongs to me...if you steal...I will hurt you...thankyou and have a nice day.
© 2008 - 2024 getRainedON
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