Saturday, 9 May 2015
-Pyromania- a story in 2 paragraphs...
'Silently he slipped his fingers into his denim pocket and fumbled for the stolen match-book. There was a moment, between the low hum of the power cable, and the distant trill of a sonorous songbird, teasing his memories with it's bright tones and honeyed call, that he hesitated. The sweet sucker of spring blossom filling him with sun-baked portico's and lush grass, crushed beneath the rushing waves of children's toes, dashed in heady laughter amongst shining eyes and lemonade. But it was just a moment, and moments pass, as do memories, like flaking paint on stucco walls, tattered curtains falling glibly over shattered windows and burnt out halls. He had been away so long, long enough to forget, and everyone was gone.
The match sputtered in his fingers, as the gas soaked curtain took hold, and as quickly as that moment had passed, as quickly as the years had rolled over the smoke filled memories of his youth, it was aflame, and he remembered again. He remembered how they had gone, with screams and fire, the tortured vestments of his shattered years incarcerated in that prison cell, his very own funeral pyre. The licking flame danced along the hall, as he disappeared into it's orange glow. The coddled warmth of all that sorrow, embracing him in a blanket of cinders. A bird sang sweetly upon the bough of the old oak, it's heart shot upon the breeze and eased between the braids and slats of the broken swing. There was a pause, and he was gone.'
© Richard Michael Parker 2015
Posted by RMP at 02:41