Monday, May 19, 2008

My short story in progress

He stood at ground level. Pulled himself up into the window that welcomed him. Wide open with remnants of glass that looked like sharp teeth now surrounding him as he carefully jumped down. Shattered glass spilling all over the floor below. He tossed his bag aside and wiped the sweat off his brow. Gulped some water from his battered old water bottle that had been refilled several times. The label now faded. He stood for a moment with his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. "It will do", he said quietly to himself. "It will have to."

He lost track of how many days he spent there. He had set up a place to sleep- a blanket and some cardboard beneath to bear some of the dampness that ravaged the house when the sun went down. Sometimes he could see his own breath. Often he would shiver himself to sleep while trying to hum one of his favourite songs. Quiet. Stillness filled the air. A good night's sleep was a mere fantasy. He remembered the comfort of a mattress, the fluffiness of a pillow, the tossing and turning and feel of her warmth. Her breath sometimes tickled his neck as she spooned him good night. It was all gone. A faded memory. A single ounce of love that sustained him like a feast for a thousand Lords.