Monday, 21 March 2011

Inside Story #1

I see a boy. Or a man. He looks like an older teenager, about 17 or 18. He has dark layered hair, that hugs his face in a messy fashion, but at the same time it is shiny and looks touchable and soft. He is wearing the attire of a skateboarder. The top is dark and long sleeved, i think it's grey or blue. Maybe a rusty blue. If that makes sense. His jeans are black. And he is wearing shoes, but i can't see them because the summer grass is quite long.

He is stood in a clearing of a forest, with grass on the ground, rich green grass. There are tall brown tree trunks, with tops of leaves, stood all around him. There is a house in the distance. A white cottage with old fashioned window frames and a brown door.

The teen seems worried. He looks almost lost, he doesn't know about something. His eyes are wide and his fingers keep jumping to his mouth as he looks around, almost in a panic. Does he think he's being watched? He doesn't want to go into the house, so maybe he has just come from it? Has he run away? Maybe he was angry or upset and in an outburst of emotion he left the house with the intention of not returning? He does not seem to have regret on his face. Just worry. Spinning around every now and then, changing directions to look somewhere else.
I have just noticed that his clothes have changed. His top is now a light t-shirt with a long sleeved red black and white checked shirt open over the top. I notice that he is clean shaven, but i cannot see his eyes. His thin but dark fringe is obscuring them.

There is a path under his feet. Like a circle full of dirt exactly where he is stood. With one last look at the house he turns 180ยบ to the left and starts along the path.

He is striding quite purposefully. I don't think he really knows where he is going though. The path is a close forest path, with the tree trunks all he can see, but it's surprisingly sunny considering how close the trees are together. He looks up and the branches are empty of leaves, but when he looks down the sun is flitting through leaves. It is a summer sun. I imagine he is quite warm, but he is not breaking a sweat.

I have become the boy. When? I'm not really sure, it must have been while he has been walking. A tree branch that looks quite thick and solid whips our left arm as he walks. The branch is quite flexible, so does not hurt. This makes him turn his head in that direction, and we see at first a girl, in a white dress, with long blonde hair. He is still walking in the same direction while we are looking through the trees at the girl. A tree trunk obscures the view of her and when the same spot emerges on the other side she has been replaced with a well.

The well has become an attraction. We are both staring at it. The mystery of the girl is gone. He starts towards it. The path has roots of trees over the dirt making footing slightly uneasy. But at the same time he is still walking, almost as if he is gliding. The well stands in a clearing, a small clearing, and bathed in sunset sunlight. A warm glow of a light, in the perfect circle of the clearing. The floor is covered in green grass, like the house. The well is made of old square grey stones, with a small thatched roof, and the bucket hanging off of the rope from a hook on a pole.

He takes the bucket from the hook. I am now out of his body, yet i can only see from his waist upwards. He is now wearing a plain long sleeved white t-shirt, rolled up to his elbows. His arms have fine dark hair over them. In the light he looks like he would tan a lot in the summer, but it must still be winter, or maybe he has been hiding in the white cottage.

When he reached for the bucket, he lowers it in the water of the well, which is quite high up, and crystal clear. It does not appear to have a colour. The ripples in the water distort his reflection, it's of his face, and i am seeing it through his eyes. He thinks he is attractive, but he looks sad. He has sad blue eyes.

The ripples have stopped and the water is still, his reflection has gone, even though he is still looking down in the water. He notices how the bucket is stuck upright in the water, right in the centre of the well. He reaches for it and pulls. The water has changed, its now the consistency of tough cake mix. He keeps pulling but the water only takes back the bucket. It wont budge, so he gives up. His hands fall to his side as he is defeated. He looks vulnerable but unaware of it. He still has sad blue eyes. I want to cheer him up.
I reach out to him, from where i have been standing, just out of his eye line. He does not seem surprised to see someone there. Maybe i am him, and he is myself. I hold is hand. His hands are warm, i can feel that they are the hands of a workman. Someone of a craft. They feel dry and tough. Maybe he is a musician? I know he is. In my minds eye i can see him playing a harp. Or a violin.

His eyes are glistening when i take his hand. Not with tears, but just glazed with a rich beauty. Making the blue intense. The tops of our arms touch and it seems to be comforting for both of us. The warmth and touch of another person. Somehow i can see us from behind, i am wearing the blonde girls white dress, but i am not blonde, i have my own hair, and it extends past my waist in delicate waves..

I know i am the boy again and i can feel myself holding hands with someone. Yet i am seeing the well in front of us from his eyes, everything is still, and there is no-one else there.

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