Closeit
I had no sense of echo, as if there were no walls.
Slowly my eyes adjusted and I could see faint outlines.
The room was filled with boxes, trunks, and cartons of various sizes.
Wondering where I was, or why, I moved slowly through the maze until I came upon a cardboard carton, a wardrobe of sorts, (designed for travel?)
The door was fastened with a string which I unwrapped.
Inside I found cardboard facsimiles of people, cutouts of the famous and the obscure stacked in rows along the walls of what had now turned into a room, or perhaps another dimension, it was still dark.
Thinking that they might have have sound chips installed I tried waving my hand in front of the effigies but there was no sound.
Looking closely, I began to see familiar faces. Faces from my past. Faces of friends long forgotten, or dead, or simply drifted on.
After a time of contemplation, of examining each one, I found one of special significance
In her hand was a letter, and I knew instantly why I was drawn to this ethereal space.
Melissa.
That letter I sent her so long ago.
Melissa, what a piece of work she was.
Or rather what a piece of work I wasn't
It was quite amusing to recall my naivete, my pompous assurance that I was acting with reason.
Now I see how completely I misread the situation.
She had her hooks in me from the start, and I hadn't a chance.
Well, she agreed with me completely, praised my practicality, my wisdom, my sensibility.
Of course she did.
I could blame it on the perfume, of course, but the perfume was only a metaphor for the subconscious poison I was succumbing to.
The marriage lasted three years, two months, five days, and well, some hours, some minutes, and some seconds.
I can't say it was pure torture but, I was exposed to an almost continuous litany of my failings as a provider of "romance".
Something I foolishly thought I had made clear at the outset.
We parted amicably not having ever been together in any real sense of the word.
I repacked the carton and retreated.
Still in the dark I stumbled on a n old kerosene lantern.
Upon lighting it, I found myself in a small closet, with barely enough room to turn.
posted by Lane Savant at 12:17 PM
9 Comments:
This one is a mag for the ages, sir!
From the clever title
to the macabre setting,
part nightmare, part vision,
daydreaming through tears
and angina, touching the past
ever so gently in the darkness,
and then back, back to the
dullness of the light.
Part bio, and part fiction,
and all terrific.
Really this one sings like a
battalion of fat women
with their asses on fire.
Congratulations, and keep up
the excellent work.
I posted it, of course, on FFTR,
both as is, and with my line
breaks for my own contribution,
my lame attempt to touch
your genius.
Intriguing tale of a love lost, and the memory through some sort of strange dimension... and yet it begins again at the end.
Nice write.
Sometimes, there is no escape! Nice piece.
Very Intense. marriages could be both very captivating and again not very conducive either. I have collected a bitter one myself.. The words at the end shows way to a new beginning.. well done- indeed!!
Here's mine:
http://oliviasmindlymatters.wordpress.com/2010/06/27/fire-inside-the-snow/
All the Best
xox
I adore the dream-like nature of this piece. Clever title, too. Nice write, Lane.
terrific tale...
sadness combined with beauty and hope.
well done!
Sort of a combination of Susan Sontag and H.P. Lovecraft.
Hallo, Lane!
Terrifying tale of lost love!!
If Melissa "had her hooks into you", why didn't they hold longer than the period you so minutely set in your text?? And it takes two not only to tango, but also to induce passion; evidently Melissa was unable to generate enough of this in you.
Tschüß,
Anonomann
Anonomannn; This is the other half of the perfume letter post, Sept 25.
Read "Letter to a friend" everything will be made clear.
Besides, It's better to have loved and lost, much better.
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