Tag Archives: stream of consciousness

Shifting Light

the late night clouds
are making faces at me.
I retort
with clouds of my own.

billowing smoke
rising upward
from an open mouth
that is sure
to join them
soon.

the stars attempt
to make me smile
yet they
will leave me, too.

the sunrise
will pick up
their task
but,
eventually,
give up
and burn
my skin.

isn’t it a shame?

with so much
beautiful scenery
all I can do
is stare
at my feet.

at least
the grass
is green
on this side.

right?

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Something to Live For

*NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR*
This is a work of complete fiction and a ‘stream of consciousness’ exercise at that.
Thanks, -J

It was a Saturday evening when I decided that going to a bar would be a healthy idea for someone in my situation. I lit a cigarette, turned the ignition, and let out a sigh that would squeeze sympathy from the Devil, himself. As the traffic lights whizzed above my head, colours ceased to exist as everything blurred into white. The daze did not cease as I meandered up to the door of the bar. The knob was sticky, most likely from vomit, blood, or worse. Don’t forget to wash hands, I remember thinking to myself. It’s always funny walking into a crowded establishment. With so many eyes in one place, it’s hard to abolish the thought that none of them are on you. I sipped my whiskey, straight, and drummed my fingers on the bar. Abruptly, I felt a smooth hand graze the back of my neck. One would think that my decision to venture out of my solitude had now taken a turn for the better. Her name was Melody and I could venture a guess that it was because of her voice. Smooth and breathy with such a warm tone. It was as if she was speaking to me with a musical instrument. She approached me as if she were waiting for me. Perhaps she was, in some form or fashion. I wish I could blame my lapse of judgment on the alcohol but, truth be told, I didn’t even finish my first drink. Melody caressed my leg as I drove. The traffic lights and the world around us still but a blur of white. Our lips never touching, we indulged each other. My perpetual daze detached me from reality, but it was hard to tune Melody out. I was thankful for the chance to focus on something beautiful. I sit here now, smiling in the sunshine, as I play with my daughter and I can’t help but think of the second and last time I encountered the maiden with the musical voice. I didn’t even catch a glimpse of her the day she left that fateful and cliched basket on my front porch. It was four years to the day that Melody rang my doorbell. The angel had fallen from grace. Her once porcelain skin had turned to chalk and her luscious strawberry blonde hair was now a used mop in desperate need of being rung out. She had two black eyes and, what appeared to be, a broken nose. My heart sank a little when I saw her. She asked me how ‘she’ was. I smiled, not because I was touched for her concern, but out of amusement that Melody had no way of knowing my daughter’s name. My daughter. I tossed her my last pack of cigarettes and told her that my little girl more than made up for the two hundred bucks she stole from my dresser drawer. I could see her face collide with her cupped hands as the door swung shut. Life is funny. Not funny in a coincidental way but more like a good practical joke. It makes you reveal a part of yourself that you want to keep hidden from the rest of humanity. It makes you regret every step you take until you turn around and look at how every thing has played out. I look at my little girl and she smiles at me. She has Melody’s smile. I’m surprisingly thankful for this. In a way, I’ll always be thankful. The grass my daughter runs on is a vibrant green and the sky above us royal blue. I see colours in a way that I had never thought I could: through the eyes of a child. I ventured out that night to find something to live for and I have that now…

…I named her Harmony.


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