Thursday, January 14, 2010

Winterlude2

Fiction

The rise I am standing on is the old tunnel that lead the the 10,11,12 loop. The patches of broken asphalt were once well maintained. I can make out the stout concrete curb and side walk once beautifully maintained. The crape myrtles that once adorned the parking lot have now gone feral and help screen my home from outsiders. Are there others here like me? I try to think of it but I can't see anything. It is like looking into a hole. The back half of the building was the service entrance and poorly made. But the dining area was a well built showcase of the view. It is this half of the building that remains intact. The building was adorned with rock work and the rest was windows. The high ceiling with the large cross beams still stand. I used the beams as the ceiling of my upstairs. I don't really use it as an upstairs more like a fair weather pad. It was converted into a rock igloo. To look at it compared to what it was a person wouldn't know someone lived here or more particularly under it. But my eyes widen I see my daily tracks, paths I have made encircling my home, signs pointing for all to see that I am here come and get me. They are faint I have not been totally careless but they are signs none the less and they rise from my field of vision. Now I can see them like the image in a magic eye puzzle and it is a shape. It is the shape of the sigul.

No comments:

Followers