I don’t know how long I’ve been
standing here conscious. As I look at the lighted, shadowy mansion, I wonder
who lives there. Perhaps the man closing the barn door right now owns it, his
family sitting inside and he, out here, preparing for the imminent storm. I
realize that the light comes not only from the nine windows of the house and
the door of the barn, but also from dry lightening in the distance. The man
must know the storm is approaching and not only sending empty threats. The
windmill’s wings start to spin slowly. Storm wind must’ve awakened. Maybe it
woke me too.
Every
lighted object reflects on the pond I’ve just discovered to my right.
Everything seems dormant. Other than the house, the barn, and the lightening
reflecting in the water, everything is dark. Trees surround me, tall,
triangular, and green. They are much taller than I am. I must not be one of
them. They don’t appear to be aware of my presence or their own.
There’s
a shack behind the windmill, completely dark — perhaps I live there. I don’t
know what I look like, so I attempt to move closer to the pond to catch my
reflection in it, and find that I can’t move, my arms outstretched horizontally
ending in dry, useless hands, my feet attached to something that defies
gravity. I discover that I don’t stand on solid ground.
I
continue to examine and re-examine my surroundings. There’s something dry and
dead on the ground around what I think are my feet, if I have them, a crop
perhaps. However, the crop must have already been picked and has dried out.
Maybe one season ends and another begins. I look about me once again to the
places I have already examined, and discover that everything is paralyzed in
time and space. I must have imagined the movement of the windmill, or else it
did move and then it stopped. Even the man at the barn door has not changed his
position. I also realize that a person stands by one of the windows inside the
house in perpetual closing of the curtains.
There is one place
I haven’t looked yet. I wonder if I can turn my head around to see behind me. I
can and I do. Now I see you staring at me from the customer’s side of the
corner store’s counter, getting your cash out of your wallet, broad daylight
where you are on the other side of this canvas. You blink and move your mouth as
if to ask or to tell the cashier something with your eyes still fixed on me. You
shut your mouth quickly, shake your head, and pay for your purchase. Then you
shrug, receive your change, glance at me one more time, and leave the store.
Published by Untamed Ink #3 in 2009
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