shorts.

ALMANAC

AUTHORS NOTE: THIS SHORT STORY IS AN ADAPTION TO ELIZABETH BISHOP'S "SESTINA" ENJOY

Out of the pages they flurry. Pictures from the book peel themselves off, like the shedding of skin off of a white mans sunburn. Too swift for the average eye to acknowledge. They float out, soaring across the shiny dark night. Gradually they settle, like glitter these images leave a trail. The pages flutter as more depictions fly out of the book. The pages continue to scurry, the left side thickens as the pages join its side. As if they were children, choosing which parent to live with after a divorce. Meanwhile the right side thins, like a starving being attempting to be beautiful. What they do not know is that they are  gracious no matter what size and that when they are at their frailest they do not attract anyone, no one but death as they lay on the floor of the earth, their new bed, their new grave and decay. The final pages now release the images that are so eager to leave, following their predecessors. As the final image buds out the book swiftly snaps, sealing out all the depictions as they prance around their new abode. 

A moon, she cries stars as if dust it then slowly eases onto the planet. Glistening, shining brightly over the titanic mountains that cover the now fallen sun leaving behind its painted streaks. As if fallen angels descending to hell left their blood smeared across Gods sky. A house crooked and jagged, but very charming settles onto the ground. It lays out a glossy, turvy path. A man assembles. The first image to breathe life, he at the end of the path, simply dressed but the buttons encrusted onto his shirt are of sapphire. Truly the most precious of sights, it would cause anyone and everyone to stare enchantedly. Focusing past their own reflection, through the surface and deep within their own state as they stared into the gems. 

Now, a mist appears caused by the hot showers of the tea pot that soars above. As it treads over the sky trumping every thing below, it casts a shadow. The man now runs down the spiraling path to avoid the storm. The path dazzles as he takes each step, stomping onto the rich stones. The man twirling through the mad path now reaches his home. Launching himself, he goes to clench onto the brass handle of the door. Gripping the icy metal he brutally slings the door open, this releases an ejaculation of cold air released from inside. The chilly breathe of the house intertwines with that of the tea pot. The winds now follow the mans pathway that leads by twisted example. 

The winds now twirling around in the sky as if dancing. First a soft waltz only to find the tempo gradually becoming faster, until it becomes out of control and the winds now dance a most intimate dance. At the end of it they birth a storm, that grabs onto the quirky house and the wondrous moon. Grasps onto the monstrous mountains and teapot. The man shuts his eyes grippingly as he enters the rage. The storm barks as the objects fling around its twirl. Bashing into one another the storm causes the objects to brawl. The man attempts to view what was occurring but the moons dust continues to fall onto his eyes. Suddenly there is peace; the sun, the moon, the house, teapot and man now in the peep hole that God looks through. All is quiet as the objects revert back to the drawing they once were and sink down the calming storm. The novel now creeps open, the drawings softly place themselves onto its pages. This time, the left side begins to fast as the right side discovers the feeling of plumpness as the pages furiously turn back. God above now stares down at the man and smirks, wishing him a farewell. The man pleased with the little life he was given gladly accepts his fate and rests onto the final page of the book before it shuts itself declaring 

THE END