18/01/2014

18/01/2014

A Story by Eira Anchor
"

looking through old notebooks, decided to put nighttime ramblings on the internet somewhere

"
as evening approaches and the waning sun hits the corner of my room's retinas, a rope hangs down from the ceiling. Out of the curiosity, after walking around it once and looking it up and down - i grab it. suddenly, we start moving, so of course now it's too late to let go. my grasp tightens as we pass effortlessly through the wall onto streets of Edinburgh, apparently invisible to the oblivious tenants of Darroch Court. immediately, we ascend further and my clammy, clumsy hands attempt to adjust my clutch to the tough rope, but it's as though they're sown together in an embrace. i look up and i see the hot air balloon -presumably unoccupied judging by the silence received in reply to my anxious call. in fairness, it is hard to tell from this angle.  it is strange how hot air balloons don't seem to have evolved over time. this one could've been made in the 19th century with its classical design. i really hope it wasn't and am going to go ahead and tell myself it's as modern as any car i see below me, or hi-tech submarines below them… Jesus, I'm really high. we're gliding through the air with few hiccups, me and my balloon. it must've chose me if there's no driver. perhaps i'm to be its pilot? an air captain! that would involves me reaching the top of my rope somehow… 
i peer at the big brown buildings below and my knees lock together. we continue to float upwards, towards the clouds.

© 2017 Eira Anchor


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Added on May 16, 2017
Last Updated on May 16, 2017
Tags: living in a new city

Author

Eira Anchor
Eira Anchor

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About
I'm only here for the reading, now. Though I couldn't help noticing it's the new writerscafe thing-to-do to post one of your favourite poems in your 'about me'? Am I right? Here goes: III The Oc.. more..

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A Poem by Eira Anchor


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A Story by Eira Anchor