Pristine rubber nearly vaults me out of my shoes with each step into the stretched, blue sky. I taunt Sisyphus as I drag the summit towards me in my ascent. Straining arches and burning stitches conspire to sabotage me, but the nearing summit defends me until my final steps to the throne. I ascend to my fated spot, overlooking my kingdom. I inscribe the panoramic view into digital history before taking my throne.
Father time’s whip cracked each second away. My fingers blur with prophetic efficiency, stitching my fate into each sole. Hundreds of other marionettes fill the floor, mirroring my every move. At least this puppeteer gifted me a cushion, a luxury that I didn’t have at the phone shop. The smell of burning plastic still burned my nose.
I have to admit, the first portion kind of loses me, but I think I am seeing that there is a change in perspective here. I think I am getting that there is a supervisor in a shoe factory, who is still expected to fabricate. So, while he sees his ascent to his supervisorship, he also kind of resents it because he is still doing the grunt work? The coherence aside, you make good use of many senses. Fingers blurring, sitting cushion, burning plastic, taunting Sisyphus, straining arches… It is very vivid.
Yep! there is an attempt to change the perspective but not a supervisor.
One is supposed to be the perspective of freedom gained in the western world–new sneakers to hike, free time, cell phone. The other is supposed to be the ignored, dark side of the freedom in the places where we ignore the conditions of the workers. I’ll have to try to be more overt about it but it is tough to execute in the time-frame.
a quiet ding like a key in the higher octave of a xylophone, mallets felt and soft tips clocking each brass tine until ringing resonances fill the room. like crystal wine glass rims rubbed with a forefinger, gentle notes sing from bitter red wine. the scent fills the air at the dim dinner table, just one light a warm plastic candle flickers in between us. i toy with the clicky switch on the underside, extinguishing the faux flame without a huff or puff or wavering flames in cold breath, brain froze, mouth numb from blue raspberry pops and gnawed plastic, stained like night time. otter pop wrapper chains tied. the tip of my grape tinted with white specks from freezer burn. rock solid knocking on the marble countertop like knuckles. sweet syrup oozes from the corners of my mouth where my baby teeth are knocked out. screeching laughing and shuttered teeth
wind
have we made you mad
the rustling of the leaves once gentle like a whisper in the ear
now brutal as withering branches shed their leaves
sad looking trees
weeping towards the sidewalk, scorching pavement worn down by rubber wheels and soles
the air is dense with an unnatural fog
a charred wind that darkens natures color
like peering through a tinted window
the crinkling of the leaves by the car tires is muted by heavy mini van doors
the shrieks of rodents crinkling their noses at the last morning sun
i smell the drifting cigarette smoke
the pulsating embers die on the sidewalk flicked off a lit cigarette
in a matrix of grey buildings that block the sun
she shines brighter
My feet are blocks of ice, not capable of feeling any more. Sludging through the marshy grass. Surreal, white light engulfs the sky for a second, highlighting an angry tree to my left, flailing its bare arms, warning the gods that he is not to be messed with. Stinging from cold, harsh, whistling winds, my ears frighteningly await another excruciating bang.
I feel like I am struggling with sensory writing. Does anyone have any advice or know of any more basic exercises that I can do to improve my creative writing skills in general? Words have never been a strong point of mine…