A New Shed Of New Light Flynn Hodgson
The chilling breeze happily forces itself through the opened windows like an unwanted stench, making the blue curtains peacefully sway. I stand in the middle of the room, irritated - sequencing my life into a timeline.
I ignore the large blank that sits in the past year, mocking my life...
I walk along the dusty timber floor; rosewood that speaks beneath every step.
I lay a hand on the velvet lounge feeling its subtle touch and emotions of delight.
"Positive thoughts" I say in my head.
The dust has created a second layer on top of its passionate red colour, hiding its true beauty. The wall clock has stopped ticking as the hands point to three O'clock, creating a vast atmosphere that has trapped time. strangely enough, It feels comfortable for me.
"Positive thoughts" I repeat.
I quickly walk up to the large windows that still breathe short tempered wind. It's too empowering and is cluttering everything up, blowing the dust off everything and turning the room into something it wasn't before.
"No, no, no!" I shout as I slam the windows shut; along with my eyes.
"Positive thoughts"
In the silence of the room I think of Sam. Our fondest memories were made here. The first night we were together alone was in this room. We slow danced to the record player, to soft songs of the sixties, constantly spinning all throughout the night. We cooked dinner together, a lamb roast that still makes me salivate to this day. We spent long hours, long days together in each other's arms inside this room.
I open my eyes and look straight to the dust polluted side table of photos. I pick up one, a special photo of Sam. Just looking at it makes me smile, an honest, genuine smile. A smile I haven't come across in a long time. And that's how I felt with Sam. The soft pastel coloured blue walls were painted by Sam and I, together on one summer's day. As I look around this room once more I begin to feel queasy, being encapsulated in every foreboding memory of Sam. I place the photo frame face down on the table and notice the scrunched newspaper article beside it. The exact article that I snipped from the paper exactly a year ago to this very day. That excruciating day when suddenly, everything slipped aside...
The photo of a smashed up car, blue and red flickering lights and a splintered stricken tree. If only there were such thing as a time machine. Empty of tears I let the paper fall to the ground as it too faces towards the floor.
I walk outside. All around the house are our cane fields. Well, what's left of them. Brown canes, entwined together with splashes of green have all created a thick forestry around the house. I haven't noticed the state it was in after all this time, how could I have noticed when I had places to be and things to do: my bedroom, a locked door, closed windows. The fields remind me of Sam. We used to always tend to them and treat the cane like our own child. A child we could have had. Now look at it. I feel disgusted in myself for not taking care of it, I bet Sam feels the same way. Just staring at the field makes me feel ill. And that's why I stand here with a box of matches in my hand. I stand up close to the stubborn, stiff, spineless cane field. In it's putrid state the field stares back at me. It laughs at me, forcing me to maintain my current lifestyle.That's when I take one match from the box and strike it along the groove.
I stare at the flame, flickering in the wind and without thinking I drop the match and watch it plant into the soil. It licks at a piece of bracken and climbs it like a snake. The plant arches back and blossoms into a beautiful rose, trailing a thin ribbon of black smoke flying through the air.
I turn around to walk inside and Immediately start to hear the crackling sounds getting louder and louder. That's when I know my job is done. The deathly smell of smoke, the strong heat of the flames. I walk inside and know that when the fire is gone, once it has burnt every last piece of cane, I can start to clean this filthy, dust ridden place. I walk up to the window and open it again, honouring the wind; and I slice the curtains open with such force, letting the light back in.
"Think positively" I say on its last cycle.
And for once, that phrase actually means something - something true.
The End
