Friday, November 05, 2004

Chapter 1 (Tentative)

He stirred from his sleep. Slowly, he shifted to his side of the bed trying to fixate his eyes on the tiny green light far away from him as he sat erect by the edge. Suddenly, the room felt alien to him as did the bed sheets let alone the bed. In the darkness, he squinted, trying to make out the nearest object within sight. In doing so, he banged his knee against what seemed to be a side table. He traced his fingers along the sides of the table and he seemed to feel cold porcelain.

“Has got to be a lamp,” he thought to himself. He started feeling the wall, searching for a switch. Finding it, he pressed it down once. Nothing happened. He flicked the switch again. Still nothing. He flicked it continuously to no effect. He turned to the other side of the bed and his hands brushed against something warm. Again, using his fingers, he traced them along the contours of the object. Not to his surprise, it was the figure of a woman. At that moment, he understood everything. It was just another room, another woman, another conquest. But tonight, he felt that somehow, the green light and the darkened room justified his life; the light some tiny hope, the darkness his journey in life.

He stood up, making his way to the bathroom. As he walked in the darkness, the gentle morning breeze was slowly picking up as it teased the curtains. He felt the softness of the breeze brushing his body sensually. Lured by such a tender temptation, he changed his course and walked towards the balcony door. Pushing it open, he stepped onto the tiny balcony and inhaled the dewy aura of the morning. As he did this, he stood admiring the sight before him. The satin darkness of the night was being replaced by purplish strands breaking out into tiny baby blue pores. Beyond the horizon, the sun was awaking, its embers like fireballs on the surface of the sea. The mesh of such enchanting colours defied every rainbow and a collaboration of canvas, palette and paint. Such mastery was beyond the talent of any man alive. ”Now that’s poetry in motion,” he muttered under his breath.


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