The moon casts a wayward eye through a dewy dim haze reflecting the hidden Sun’s light in a soft glow upon frosted outward-facing surfaces. The air itself acts as a media for this said refraction that assembles its infinitesimal parts ever so tighter thus rendering it to feel as though a thief to the human body or perhaps a damned spirit that requires the warmth of the living that pass.
Once I transcend the distance through this gelid space I turn to fact the East, as I do every morning to wait for the bus and tilt my eye skyward to look through the tallish firs, power lines, and the rising foothill that would seek to obstruct this vista of the heavens. The only stars I can see are Arcturus, the orange giant of twenty sun’s diameters about eleven parsecs distant and then the smattering pinpricks of the two bears’ constellations smarting down from directly overhead.
Plumes of moisture blast intermittently from myself and the two others that stand in wait here to be carted off to regions not too far in a geographic sense. -But then are galaxies away from the heart and substance of any and all matters that clamor for attention in this particular point in space-time.
***
The ride is uneventful, uninspiring, and verily indelectable. Like I mentioned, we are “carted off” to those other regions, each of us, to places that concurrently push the anima into submission but to live as we do, or for others as they do.
The ambiance is exaggerated in phosphorescence inside, hewing a panorama of darkened coats hung on shoulders of those of stony or grim countenances. As always, they read, they listen, they stare off into the distance, they sleep, they sit, they let go of all resistance.
…And then tomorrow is today’s “replicant,” but for those volatiles that would change it all in an instant.
2 comments:
You know, the description here really puts me outside the bus waiting with you. I have a lot of friends who write fiction, and one of the suggestions I often give--when they ask for the "honest opinion"--is that they bring the reader into the scene. That's not something I can say to you, though.
Something else, this post flows rather well. Maybe, this January, you might write another novel?
X: thanks for the compliment. Actually I might be back to writing in here by then. Right now I've been editing what I have from NaNoWriMo, about 51k words; more like a novella. I might need a reader or two to give that "honest opinion" of it once I finish the second draft •hint •hint. :)
Honestly I am not sure what to think of my first attempt at something of significant length. I feel like I'm too close to it to give a concise indication. Anyway, it was fun regardless.
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