The images come to me and there isn’t time to process them through Word; pretty them up before posting. This one was born of the unsettled feeling I woke up with. A sense that something is amiss, or coming, or….I don’t know. It’s an anxiety attack based on something rattling around in my subconscious so of course, I must write. (PS – we need a title for my WordPress Work in Progress. Any suggestions from the few little blurbs you’ve read so far?)
He sat in the darkened room surrounded by familiarity and comfort. The third bourbon painting rings on the glass of the coffee table in front of him. No matter how much he’d consumed, the feeling remained. A nagging he couldn’t get rid of. He refused to entertain it as emotion; discounted its similarity to what the poets he used to enjoy metaphorically described. They were fools living in an age where a man and his emotions were celebrated, not shunned. He was today’s man, modern, not quite metro, but sexual and wearing his masculinity proudly. He followed the rules. He gave up sipping, trying to drown the feeling in the flow of drink down his throat. It didn’t work, so he filled another dark glass full, swallowing in a hearty gulp before the pour had completely settled. He took the optimists side and left the glass half full. That didn’t work either.
He was afraid that nothing but her damnable presence was going to quiet his nerves. He reached out twice in his now muddled state. Pulling his hand back when his mind remembered she’d left days ago, neither one of them had looked back.
At least now I know where this story is coming from, and what my muse wants me to work through as I write it. I have no doubt there will be tears before I’m finished with this draft, but by the time I’m done, I will have come one step closer to being done with this growth spurt. And you dear reader(s) will be the first to see what emerges from the chrysalis. What type of dragon will I be?
Rough drafting continues, as my life becomes my art.