"It is rather strange. Thrust forward and you'll die. Go backwards and you'll fall over. Stop and the iron will rot. Can those wheels grow wings?"
"Achilles heels?"
"No, Hermes'."
"Are they of any difference?"
"They're definitely different."
"It's a bright day."
"So do they grow wings?"
"Not wings, but they do flutter around."
●●○●●
The smell of home, bright blue sky, the tinge of metal in the air. Sparks of curious fantasies that feeds the gleaming field, fireflies which keep flying low. It was a quiet day, the sound of crickets so distant - none was in the field, none was brave to be near. The power of ancient streams, oozing out from the sandy surface; oh, earth, a pale gold color potruding from the forgotten civilization beneath. It wasn't usual, it is never. But your calloused, bronze infused hands never stopped working; and though the gold fades, the scent stayed same.
Copper, though weak, and common, when you tend to them, all the dull shades goes away, and it's vibrantly alive. Though it is dead, and no kiss could ever return it breathing - you make them joyous. You give it a life, a soul which rests idly inside. The way you made me real, you also made it real.
The thunderous smell of rain. Millions of water droplets, fall, fall, down onto the copper field. A hint of shock when the droplets hits the metallic surface, the pressure which is secured tightly around it easily broken. Impact, high and low, and slowly they drip down to meet the shimmering earth.
This scenery, one that is inexplainably exquisite, gives another meaning to the life you gave.
●●○●●
"These tires are old. Why have you never changed them?"
"They are alive. I'm not changing them. I'm not burying them six feet down the earth. They've tasted the coppery flavor of defeat and washed out dirt. They've flown higher than a bird."
"So it's a no?"
"To say just 'no' is almost like an insult. I fully disagree with the whole replacing idea. I despise that idea. I'm opposing them as of now, as of the moment you mentioned it. So to sum it up, so that your small imaginary maze of a brain can absorb, yes, it's a no."
"But they are tires."
"And this is the copper field."
●●○●●
YOU ARE READING
Blunt
Short Story"For I am a blunt edge, the dull side that is of a deadly weapon; yet still, I can cut through the waves in an odd sense." -Forgive and Take- "Like a progressive evolution of a semi-completed music score, our hands reach out of the nebula. We pictur...
