A Book of Shadows

Fireflies

A halo. A pure loving light shone down brightly as a golden warming ray of unearthly illumination. Its innocence was slightly muffled by the large blue cylindrical shade encapsulating it. Beneath, thick magnolia woven strands conspired to form a carpet. Clean. Rather well kept. Upon it, a pair of black suit shoes; a college tie; a purple shoulder bag filled with books and biros; and a man's blue blazer.

At the far papered periwinkle wall, a square wooden dining table sat with a white cloth upon it; strangely, the beams that formed its body met at perfect angles as if it was mean to be that way. Atop it, a notebook with vibrant golden writing – calligraphy emblazoned upon it and an English pink rose finally in bloom with opulent feather soft inner petals within an old jam jar. Adjacent to the table, three shelves had been erected filled top to toe with books; Shakespeare, Lady Chatterley's Lover, The American Revolution were all perched along was their peers and many other wonderous curiosities such as water colour paints, brushes, an old battered sketch book and a tiny jewelry box filled with little trinkets of times old and new.

Ahead of the table, a small white wooden door was opened just a crack with a bronze circular knob beside a silver lock and latch. A colourful sign upon the door read; 'Hurry up, we're dreaming'. By the door, a large tall ivory wardrobe stood erect with two doors and two draws with little coppery knobs not unlike that upon the door. Both doors were too opened just a crack displaying school uniform and leggings and shoes behind the first and suits and jeans and shirts behind the second. The draws were both firmly closed. All within them was hidden.

Perpendicular to the window, a large white plastic window frame was embedded into the longest outside wall. Its pane was double glazed and fairly new, a thin cream blind was wound up above with a thick bubbled string suspended to the height of the table. Beyond the glass, a bright crystalline city towered towards the heavens as a perfect illuminated herald. Contemporary angular buildings soared against a darkened skyline juxtaposed with ancient structures; a defense perhaps? A dome, a shard, a tall hollowed out wheel could all be seen through this high window of this small flat of these unknowing lives of this imperfect world. All against the stretched darkened horizon.

A warm heart of the room, a hollow metallic grey bedframe with four main supports and many knits and bolts to hold it all together. Upon it, a soft thin mattress of pure unblemished white with the warmth of fluffy blankets in sweet pastel shades with gentle patterns embellished upon them. Above, many small golden lights intertwined and conspired upon a subtle string that held them. Fireflies in the city night.