7 june
06/07/06 Prompt- There was a boy
There was a boy who held a pack of cigarettes in his hands, turning it over and over, tumbling end to end, examining the corners and edges, the tricks of folds in the paper, the bright red of the package against the white, and then the black lettering like spiders legs grown too long and too regular.
He didn’t know what it was for, but the package fascinated him. He decided to take it home and add it to his collection of found things, which lined the tattered two-by-four he had also found in a field near his shed, just laying amid the grasses of the hills, soaking in the sunshine and the rain water alternately.
The boy was called Jeremy and he was sure his found shelf had always been rough and worn and the color grey.
It’s texture had enticed him to run his fingers over it, thinking it would be smooth and soft, something like a cat’s silken coat after a bath. A long shard of the wood pierced his skin and blood appeared. It was beautiful. The color caused Jeremy to stop crying before he started. He gazed, entranced, at the tip of his finger, at the blood that ran down and followed the natural contours of his body. He ran to show his mother, who hadn’t died yet.
She yelled at him furious and threw the cat at him. “Put it in your mouth! It’s too precious to waste,” she quieted from anger to sorrow, watching the red trail on Jeremy’s finger.
The red on the cigarette package wasn’t as vibrant or rich-looking. The blood had seemed a depth of red, such a color that it must have held worlds in all its subtleties and variations. The package wasn’t as red, but even a tinge of pink was enough to horde. To add to a collection of one sort or another.
Jeremy cradled the package in cupped his hands, like dipping them into a cool stream. And drink. He had a knack for finding red that amazed his mother while she was still alive. Jeremy briefly wondered what she would have said about this little treasure, what special thing she would have cooked for him for finding such a marvelous thing.
The shelf held a collection of red. Jeremy reveled in the light of the sunset, at the contrast between the red and grey, how they seemed perfect together and, though obviously not the same, there was something of the red in the grey, and likewise, something of the grey in the red. In that light, Jeremy thought strange things and as the light dimmed, he wondered how he could have thought such things.
All the colors in the world are the same, he whispered in his head. Too afraid to say them aloud there for fear of what such boldness would bring. The sun cut through the sky, blue, and neared the horizon, as it usually did. Jeremy turned towards the open door of his shed, elevated his head slightly from the floor to get a better view of the colors that would come, the yellow, the green, and the expanding shades of blue. They were beautiful, as always. But Jeremy could help saying, “something is missing.”
There was a boy who held a pack of cigarettes in his hands, turning it over and over, tumbling end to end, examining the corners and edges, the tricks of folds in the paper, the bright red of the package against the white, and then the black lettering like spiders legs grown too long and too regular.
He didn’t know what it was for, but the package fascinated him. He decided to take it home and add it to his collection of found things, which lined the tattered two-by-four he had also found in a field near his shed, just laying amid the grasses of the hills, soaking in the sunshine and the rain water alternately.
The boy was called Jeremy and he was sure his found shelf had always been rough and worn and the color grey.
It’s texture had enticed him to run his fingers over it, thinking it would be smooth and soft, something like a cat’s silken coat after a bath. A long shard of the wood pierced his skin and blood appeared. It was beautiful. The color caused Jeremy to stop crying before he started. He gazed, entranced, at the tip of his finger, at the blood that ran down and followed the natural contours of his body. He ran to show his mother, who hadn’t died yet.
She yelled at him furious and threw the cat at him. “Put it in your mouth! It’s too precious to waste,” she quieted from anger to sorrow, watching the red trail on Jeremy’s finger.
The red on the cigarette package wasn’t as vibrant or rich-looking. The blood had seemed a depth of red, such a color that it must have held worlds in all its subtleties and variations. The package wasn’t as red, but even a tinge of pink was enough to horde. To add to a collection of one sort or another.
Jeremy cradled the package in cupped his hands, like dipping them into a cool stream. And drink. He had a knack for finding red that amazed his mother while she was still alive. Jeremy briefly wondered what she would have said about this little treasure, what special thing she would have cooked for him for finding such a marvelous thing.
The shelf held a collection of red. Jeremy reveled in the light of the sunset, at the contrast between the red and grey, how they seemed perfect together and, though obviously not the same, there was something of the red in the grey, and likewise, something of the grey in the red. In that light, Jeremy thought strange things and as the light dimmed, he wondered how he could have thought such things.
All the colors in the world are the same, he whispered in his head. Too afraid to say them aloud there for fear of what such boldness would bring. The sun cut through the sky, blue, and neared the horizon, as it usually did. Jeremy turned towards the open door of his shed, elevated his head slightly from the floor to get a better view of the colors that would come, the yellow, the green, and the expanding shades of blue. They were beautiful, as always. But Jeremy could help saying, “something is missing.”
posted by InkSpot | 12:22 AM
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