She Glides

She Glides

A Story by Edward Clay
"

A very short, descriptive piece - not a story as such, but a dream like trance, capturing a scene. A short short story I suppose!

"

These golden hues are irreplaceable. Against the canvas backdrop of the sinking sun, leaves like petals, in autumn's leafy rainfall, dance on air waves; their own musical beat. You stand, drenched in a coat of colour with a washed on look of contentment, a lost smile.

This is your entrapment, your boundary free home. The density of wooden giants stretches into the infinite unknown in every direction away from your clearing; the only place to gain a view of the suspended lights, hanging from a distant somewhere, when you stare up into the ether; the night painted on a veil. You're spiralling under this open canopy, resembling the grace of the leaves descent, your eyes closed tight. Yet the world doesn't drift from your sight. You are still fully aware of where you are, and what is around you. Arms outstretched, you helicopter and sing, competing with the life that bounds around you.

In one final moment of complete ecstasy you fall. Landing with not even a thud, the ground accepts you and wraps you in its warm embrace. Your eyes remain firmly shut, yet that look of brilliant unawareness toward the outside world, lays rested on your face.

You drift between pictures and thoughts on waves strung together on the fabric of ethereal dreams. I would join you only if I could break down the walls that have built themselves up around your solitude and isolated bliss. So instead I sit back and watch from where I am allowed.

I stare from afar at a different scene though. Through an opal glassy frame, I see the same face I always have seen, but I don't see your leaves and forest, or your dance. I see you lying, trapped in an entanglement of tubes and bed sheets, looked upon by broken hearts and lost dazes. But what comforts this mess of embittered cruelty, is that you are dancing, painted on a canvas of such intricate beauty and aesthetic wonderment, that the world seems infinitely inferior compared to wherever you truly are.

© 2008 Edward Clay


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amazing. it read just like a poem, but it was a story too. fantastic once again!

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

"You drift between pictures and thoughts on waves strung together on the fabric of ethereal dreams. I would join you only if I could break down the walls that have built themselves up around your solitude and isolated bliss. So instead I sit back and watch from where I am allowed."

This is stunning. You truly have a gift for words and creating images. It's describing a peaceful death, is it not?
This resonates with a particular sting for me, today.

Beautiful work.

K

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on February 6, 2008

Author

Edward Clay
Edward Clay

The land of wherever, just south of Nowhere.



About
"So where you headed in this old broken town, where the day glow orange of the midnight moon is the warmth you gather around? What's there to see apart from the dusty nights under sewn matress skies, .. more..

Writing
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