Painting pictures of the mind
My old branches are stark against the amber streaked skyline in the warm early morning sunlight. Autumn leaves spread like a golden carpet below me and tiny creatures scurry, appearing and disappearing, teasing and laughing, harvesting my seed to help my forest grow.
I dream quietly as I move slowly past the gnarled old oak tree that towers above. My deep waters become shallow and little creatures squirm inside to cross the pebbles and rocks that lie on my floor. Tiny insects hover above, darting down and then quickly soaring up to pause on overhanging grasses or twigs of small bushes. Occasionally, they are caught and a quick plop announces that they have been drawn into me by creatures that live in my secret depths.
My walls are grey stone and my roof is of straw, filled with tiny creatures that burrow and build homes. I only have one room and within this room lies an old machine quietly rusting in the gloom. Beside me, water flows slowly, licking against my moss covered walls, cooling and caressing me. Green ivy crawls, ever alive, ever growing around my crumbling wooden door with it’s broken lock and tired, rusted hinges.
One day my friend will come for me again. I will burst into life, strong and willing to climb the green fields and draw the heavy loads across the countryside. But it has been too long that I have stayed quiet here. The last remaining dregs of fuel that were in my belly have evaporated and gone. With each passing day, my limbs lock together more tightly. Soon, when my friend comes, I will not be able to respond to his call. The tiny beams of light slipping through the dirty brown window are all that warm my body. I long for the times to return when I was alive and fiercely warmed by the fire and heat of my burning fuel.
Water laps around my wooden body and seeps within my brown timbered frames. Hard stones and mud support me where water used to flow. Inside I am stripped of meaning, an empty shell, a useless hulk. Even my old timber seats and the places where long slim tongues of wood stretched besides me to break the surface of the water and enable me to transport people across the river have gone. My body feels sick and is full of water. When the storm comes, I fear I will twist away from the shallows where I rest, drift to the rapid water I can hear close by and and my end will come.
Two faces appear before me, looking but not seeing. Turning towards each other, they slowly kiss, savouring red lips, pressing faces together, hungrily, then they are gone.
Another face with mottled skin and staring, frightened eyes slides into view, mouth open, panting. Warm breath flows over me and I feel small water droplets splashing everywhere. He has been to me before. As he watches me, his lined features relax and become younger. Then he is gone.
Two huge brown eyes in a small pretty face with hair as black as night drift upwards into my view. Immediately, every inch of my existence is absorbed into her sparkling mind.
She sees my sweet flowing river, my tumble down barn, my sad ferry boat listing in the lapping water. She hears the cry of the old tractor, smells the moss of the river bank and feels the sadnes of the old oak tree as it decays in the half morning light.
Her warm brown eyes mist over and down each rosy cheek runs a tiny tear, then she descends out of sight and is gone.
Soon there are no more faces. I feel myself surrounded by soft fibres. Trapped and held tight as the world whirls dizzily around me. Everywhere is full of growling sounds and then voices and a sharp crash.
………….
The sunlight gently warms my surface and brings me back to life for a new day. But now there are different sounds and different shapes to see.
When the faces are not before me, I look beyond and can see beautiful colours and forms exploding with life and energy.
Crying out, they warmly welcome me as a friend. Although they are so different, they are paintings just like me and I know that, finally, I’m home.
The End
A complete list of free online short stories, novels and novellas by Rob Hopcott
© Rob Hopcott 1999 - 2007, all rights reserved. All characters are fictitious in this story and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.
