Saturday, May 23, 2009

The Reaper (Pt VI)

The school buildings rose like grand statues in his mind, and the vine house of his childhood, with mom and sister in it, dissipated into oblivion. The heaviness in his footsteps seem to lighten. Yet, his legs could not keep up with the lithe crowd. The melancholy habits of his rural ways was no match for the rapid city life.

His compass pointed him in every direction and his eyes squinted at the strangeness of his transcript. When he finally settled himself, he landed in the clutches of his guidance counselor. He was a frail man with pale skin, and his gold rimmed glasses swooped down his nose. A look of mild displeasure rose on his face.

"Aha, I see," he remarked. "You have poor grades but you're an athlete. Athletes have it easy." His piercing, blue eyes seemed to condemn him.

"Well," Kadin stammered, but the professor waved off his reply.

He was dubbed the quiet one. His lips never parted except to say something he deemed important. Kadin didn't connect to the new world he was birthed in. His roommate made futile attempts to bond with him. Kadin accepted the invitation one night, drowning in beer, and waking up on the floor. His head spinning like a merry go round, he vowed not to touch that stuff again.

Eyes seemed to follow him wherever his foot tread. They watched him because he was tall; they prodded him because he was mysterious. Their eyes penetrated his skin and he squirmed.

He found sanctuary in the library; its quiet solitude beckoning him in. The walls closed in like a sensitive flower, only the petals of a book lay open to him. Here eyes were preoccupied with words and work. He was safe. He never had an appetite to learn. Words usually danced in his head, producing no understanding.

Yet in this library full of shelves, he discovered new worlds. He became an adventurer, drifting on the channels of his consciousness. The revelry lasted for hours and when he finished, his head ached.

Rifling books back on the shelves, he smashed into a delicate, young woman. Her body tumbled on the floor like a crushed moth. Her eyes were stunningly large, dipped in the blue light of the window. Her hair was a rich auburn, which reminded him of strawberries in blossom. The fold in her lips reminded him of a rose. He wanted to kiss her.

8 comments:

vesperinlimbo said...

I adore your prose.

Nadege said...

hey pretty, enjoying the characterization of
this sweetly innocent young man. his confusion
and feeling of being an outsider is something
we can all relate to at one time in our live.
excelente! WG.

septembermom said...

This story comes from your soul. Wonderful! (By the way, you can keep that award on my blog, don't worry about passing it on to a bunch of bloggers. That's just a little technicality about spreading the "award love" around. You really deserve this recognition.)

LazyKing said...

I wanted to give you the Kreativ Blogger award but you've already have it. Congrats for your awards

workerv said...

WG, you really waltz with this one,
I'm enjoying the dance. It's so
interesting, on the big screen, I
wonder who would be chosen to play
these chactrators? I could see it
now.

Kilauea Poetry said...

Wow..this is really colorful and it's getting mighty engaging..the "young woman" must change the dynamics a little?
Nice job!

judith ellis said...

Ah, so very nice!

Anonymous said...

This story is moving along with a pace of mystery and intrigue as usual WG you hit it out the park!!:) You make me feel wonderful on sunny and rainy days!!:) thank you