His mind was
no longer being used, its true calling, now broken in a single moment. In the chaos
of shattered words, his, were now lying upon the floor in a disheveled pile. Adjectives
could no longer help him, form a single thought nor lift his dying spirits and
the verbiage that once flowed from his fingertips trembled silently in the
corner. All he knew at this moment was that his sentence structure couldn’t
help him, for what he felt, the pain, the betrayal, neither were in his vocabulary.
And so, he lashed out, though foolishness
had never been familiar, he acted swiftly and without thought and walked out
the door.
The weight
of the world had most definitely increased exponentially in his life, and not just
from the 4’ of snow that had been threatening to collapse the roof of the cabin,
no, he was pretty sure the fire would be the solution to that problem. As the
flames leaped into the darkening heavens, his story literally was falling from
the sky. The explosion had been epic, the gas tanks in the basement went up,
yet left the house standing. That befuddled him slightly as he realized he was
without a coat in the dead of winter. Only the flames now separated him from hyperthermia
and a slow death. But even more poignant to him was how he felt nothing as the
pages of his unfinished novel spun wildly in the wind, landing on and around
him. He stepped back, his feet pressing down on the pages of his words, half on
fire, grinding them into the snow. The sounds of the fire rapidly consuming the
structure was almost deafening yet all he could hear was her voice and, in that
moment, he knew, she had never loved him. Not only had his work in the relationship
been for nothing, but the novel in itself also lived from that lie and he did not wish
to ever be reminded of that. He laughed a little when part of the roof
slid off
and landed on her car, “poetic” he spoke out loud, for he was certain her new
boyfriend's rental would get them to their awaiting paradise. He warmed himself
once again, stepping closer and then turned, and walked away knowing in his
heart the new words to a new story awaited him just down the road.
6 comments:
You had me at dying words Scott. The reader can truly feel what is felt in the lines and I love the many deep comparisons of the cold and warmth of burning and weight of the world and snow upon a roof. Simply beautiful writing my friend and who doesn't love a little poetic justice in the mix. Being a lover of hope, the closing lines were what brought the most warmth of all! So glad you joined in at the Muse!
Thank you so much Carrie. I had fun with this Muse concept. The second I saw the picture I knew the story. I can't wait to get to go read the other writings! From what little I saw that picture seemed to draw many of us into it.
You are very welcome Scott
Yes that picture was popular. It really fired up the Muse in the writers. 😁✍️ The next Muse will post a little after midnight tonight.
Love the image of the pages floating about, half on fire.
Wonderful writing!
Thank you, Carrie, I will be looking for that!
The second I saw that picture of the floating pages burning, the story wrote itself in my head. Thank you so much.
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