I feel like a cold treat. Ice cream? Water? An Icy Kiss?
Sitting above everyone else eating, I sat eating. Forks pressed against lips feeling the tinge of sterling taken for granted despite hundreds of years using cutlery nearly every day. Social memory failing the masses, I suppose. Eating and talking. They were doing the talking: I, observing.
Comfy chairs by a small fire in the commons as chatty conversations echoed with a low reverb profile; maybe it was recorded in a conversation. A conversation recorded in the commons near a kitchen.
A girl briskly lifted her arm triumphantly holding an umbrella in hand; earlier it was sprinkling I had noticed outside. I was nervous of the glow reflected from the fire off the polystructure of the plastic and metal beams. I wonder who invented the umbrella.
Then – as if it wasn’t obvious through all of the horror stories – she naturally, reflexively pressed the button to shoot the second half of the contraption towards its unfolding; unfolding like a flower shot over the days with the film sped up. It was elegant, but it was work. She didn’t work. The machine worked elegantly.
Instantly, I thought about the superstition. In a second instant I thought about how I wasn’t superstitious. In the next, I questioned how many people at the same exact moment of the umbrella reaching its climax indoors had thought about superstition. Then I asked if they were also not superstitious. In an instant this shot past me. Shot past me like control.
The girls laughed.
I wondered if those instants, that elegance, that reverb, that machine, that sterling, that “that” proved the existence of god.
MechanisticMoth
Crocodilicus
xanpluto
I’m sorry about the confusion and that she doesn’t seem to want anything right now. I am sure she will come around though, you are a pretty fantastic person.