Woods with red leaved trees. An abandoned house with a woodcutting axe still in the stump. A fire was on outside. Charred firewood out in the front. Broken windows and upturned furniture.
Cooling beach sands. Silhouettes of swaying palms. Black waves push foam over the footprints on the shore. Far away, an island native chucks on his ukulele.
Hot. Heat shimmying down your back. Cold perspiration seeping from your pores, trapped under the itchy cotton of your shirt. Itching of your weave. A hot day. Hot and sticky. Humid. A day in the rice field. Back sore and sweaty from bending over. Feet wet by warm water.
Random Author’s Note: I don’t know why, but I just adore the picture of rice grain. Maybe it’s because I’m just a riceaholic. 🙂
Sitting in an ice-cream shop. Ice-cream Malts printed on blush pink and red striped wall paper. Whirling Fans hanging from the low ceiling. What ice cream flavors are on sale today? Green tea, mango, sherbert— behind the condensation on the glass. A cross-eyed teenager comes to the register, dark curls peeking under his Yuki’s Ice Cream hat. He rubs his hands together and stutters out a “W-what can I get for you today?” First day on the job I bet.
Town of close fitting apartments and a scrunched bluey dawn looming over. A girl playing hopscotch on potholey streets. And the neighborhood boys chucking rocks down the alley.
A mom dumps a bag full of Bertolli into the skillet and cuttin’ on medium heat. Her girlfriends chillin’ on the couch. The Mercedez parked outside. Not the best kind of neighborhood. The boondocks. The parking meter has been broke for months.
A still world. Of machines and everything happening like clockwork. Generators whirring. Androids at the check stands with a permanent plastered smile for every customer. It’s a world of force-fronted positivity and no one is allowed to be sad or feel upset. Complete predictability. Complete safeness. To be different is to defect. To defect is to not be one of them.
A little girl. A little house. Her scribbling crayoned pictures to show her adopted mother. Her caretaker has her eyes glued to the window, on the soldiers patrolling the streets. There’s a palpable tension the child can feel but not place.