In Motion


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Haven't written anything in three weeks, so this is just a small something to get the cogs turning, to clear the cobwebs. This may mean more to some than others.

Mother

You taught me well, taught me to look past the colour of a man’s skin. When I asked you how to discern between right and wrong, you showed me that answers lay not in scriptures or words from antiquity, but that I should look to the rain.

The rain keeps men honest, it cleanses the earth of all the ridiculous notions we would thrust upon it, reminds us to tread carefully, forces us to rely on each other more than we would prefer to.

I was not as mischievous a boy as the others, was I? While they were smoking behind the school gymnasium, discovering the image of a woman’s virtue on dog-eared, glossy pages; I was more enraptured by the ridges on the spine of a book then I was at the imagined smoothness of a woman’s legs. They were put to war with cricket bats and rugby balls, while I battled Minotaurs and Leviathans.

I know you were proud of me, mama. That’s the only thing that keeps me going sometimes. But I don’t live in that world anymore. This place is too dark for your wisdom; but I have been patient, I have become wise in my own way. You were right; I should look to the rain. The clouds that roam across the sky like wildebeest on the Serengeti; they turn the sunlight to grey, everything to grey. What colour is the rain, mama? The colour of survival.

A man jogged past me this morning, on my way to collect magazines. I think he was perhaps 40, or 45, but I have never been good at guessing age. He looked so relaxed, in his blue running shorts and white t-shirt. It must have been around 7:30, and I wondered how it was he didn’t even need to get ready for work yet. Imagine that, mama. To run for pleasure, to not have anything to run from.

I know it’s wrong, but I envy him. I envy his delusions, every muted thud of his running shoes on the pavement. And as survival fell from the sky, I found solace in the arched doorway of a clothing store. I checked the opening times on the small sign in the corner of the window, and prayed to God that the rain would stop by 9:30.

Oh mama, I no longer have any books to read, only people. But I read well, and of all the faces that pass me by, those who glance at me from their car windows are all of the same author, the same words. They assume me a victim of circumstance, that as the rain spatters off walls and thrums against glass, I hear in it a profession of my innocence.

How I would love to tell you they are right, that I act as I do because I know no better. Yet I know something they don’t. I live with it each day. It’s the last thing I see before sleep grants me a reprieve. I’ve wanted to tell you so many times, tempted by the hope of a mother’s fathomless love, her mythical capacity for forgiveness.

But I can’t. I lack the words, the courage; or perhaps it is my last gift of love to you, I have no desire to see your heart shattered.

To tell you why. Why I can never come home again.


8 Responses to “In Motion”

  1. Blogger Kelly 

    Aaah... I was just popping over to ask you to tell us a story. Thank you.

  2. Blogger Fence 

    More Grass Kings?
    Cool.

    Bit sleepy at the mo (just back from a day trip away) so I'll have a proper read tomorrow.

  3. Blogger jason evans 

    Well done. An intriguing monologue with fine imagery.

  4. Blogger LiVEwiRe 

    To run for pleasure, to not have anything to run from. I can certainly identify. This is amazing; I've read it several times yet still find that the words and meaning shift. I love when you share what's in that head of yours.

  5. Blogger Fence 

    I know, I said I'd be back on Sun but I've been having problems with blogger and its desire to show me 404 pages and its "you do not have permission to access these pages" messages.

    I've reread this a few times, and I'm loving it. Really want to know the reason why.

    One line however doesn't seem to flow: While they were smoking behind the school gymnasium, discovering the image of a woman’s virtue on dog-eared, glossy pages; I was more enraptured by the ridges on the spine of a book then I was at the imagined smoothness of a woman’s legs.

    I think you might need to add something to it, or take something away. I'm not quite sure what, because I like the idea behind it, its just everytime I read it I have to slow down a little, it breaks the flow. The following line, sport as war, is fantastic though.

  6. Blogger JP 

    I liked that! I'm certain I'm interpreting it very differently than you intended, of course.
    That's part of the fun, right?

    Oh, and welcome back to the bloggiverse.

  7. Blogger forgottenmachine 

    Kelly - Hope it was what you were looking for

    Jason - Thanks, as always your comments are highly appreciated.

    Livewire - There are some nasty bits trying to breach the walls at the moment, so you might want to stay tuned....

    Fence - I shall take your suggestions under advisement. Should the board vote favourably, changes will be made. But the board have been missing off the coast of Haiti for a few weeks now, so I'm not promising anything.

    JP - Well, how did you interpret it then? Don't make me beat it out of you.....

  8. Blogger Fence 

    The boards? Nothing but a shower of slackers if you ask me (which you didn't).

    Won't I feel bad now when it turns out that a mad, gm-ed shark has attacked and eaten (at least parts) of this VIP boards?

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