Spinning. Thirteen years old and with my friends in some suburban backyard, spinning. Looking up at the nightime stars and spinning. Spinning until a single star became the axis around which the universe revolved. Spinning until everything made momentary sense and then dissolved away in fits of giggles and pratfalls on the grass.
Spinning, the car catching my rear bumper and turning me in a full circle so that the city became a blur.
Spinning in the pool, three somersaults in a row is what turned the pool into the ocean filled with the giant squid and the great white shark.
Spinning and watching Natalie's eyes light up when the end of the bottle pointed toward her. Spinning as I leaned over and kissed her on the lips.
Spinning, spinning, spinning.
And now I lay on my bed and I can't sleep. The ceiling is a faint glow as though it captured the light of day and won't let go. I stare at the light above my head. I stare and won't stop staring. Until it spins and the walls of my age fall away and reveal my whole life.
As promised, here is the link to the narration: http://bit.ly/nNOJLR
As promised, here is the link to the narration: http://bit.ly/nNOJLR
Thanks, xesands. A beautiful reading!
Thanks so much! And thank you for such a touching piece, and for allowing me to record it (now if I could just get my comments to stop showing up multiple times!)
That is simply beautiful.
That is simply beautiful.
That is simply beautiful.
Evocative yet ethereal. Good stuff.
The first story I remember writing was about a man who caught a two-headed fish. He held it in his hand, marveling at it for a while, and then he noticed that it had another hook in it's mouth. Somebody else had caught it and let it go. So he carefully removed his hook and set it free.
I don't know how old I was when I wrote that, but I'm still trying to write a better story.
Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0