A hundred paper lamps were floating across the river as the sun was going down, scorching everything in moody orange. Jim touched the strips of sunset colors with his cheek, in shiny, shiny leather, and gazed at the magnetic plunges of serial suits and ties, boxer shorts, and bright shirts rolled up. The tender September moments fleeing into the mirroring glass of office buildings, and the chemise of the day was golden, with sneezes and smoke settling snugly into the sparkling air.
Things look different in this effervescent glow, like the light itself highlights the cheekbones of the riverbank, darkens its eyelashes and dilates it’s pupils. Some unreasonably complimentary filter that softens thoughts and faces, and a low electric hum crossing wires and connecting the disconnected souls on alternate sides of the riverbank. Floating frequencies and bridges where there were moats and dissolving moonless September nights in the glistening water.
With teeth like piano keys, children smiled, and faces came out of the horizon, as parents shuffled and bumped into each other to reach the riverfront. Jim had the unwavering faith of starting an adventure, seeking inspiration from the suburban parental, familial satisfaction, and the Christopher McCandless, exploration of the wild. He thought he had enough age on his head to have it all. And his compact home, he remembered, had seeping pipes and now it beckoned him to go bathe in waterfalls, and not showers; climb more mountains, and less beds. This dream in his mind collided with the clanging of the barefoot footsteps on the bridge. He stared wide-eyed, short dressed into the seams, where the blankness made him move slowly to complete a scene of revelry. Just roping him with the clutch of its happiness. Cartoons from newspaper stands flew in the animate the sky, and he propagated himself into the fields of long, brunette haired people.
There’s a shared frequency here, and Jim tunes in to the atmosphere and turns the radio waves up until he can feel the air grow loud with the sound of his favourite song. It’s the kind of coincidence that feels like destiny and reverberates from somewhere within his chest until he cannot help but hear the beat of his own heart and the sound of his own hum. It’s a realisation, and before he knows it, his vocal chords open to the tune of possibilities, happy birthdays and gratuities sung in some hidden place of adventure. He sees his name rolling in the credits, words tumbling everywhere ready for him to collect with his pen in the cinematic release surging through him as he dances in the sunrise of tomorrow.
This is my third time collaborating with the talented In Mind and Out. We sparked a sense of happiness and plugged it into the character I’ve focused on writing this month.