When I returned, I found a desolate home I hardly recognized – red carpeting with a diamond pattern I would have never picked, broken glass on the floor, an unknown red chair as the only furniture left. The windows looked different, half boarded up, one thin like an embrasure, and strange blue light seeping in. My plant had grown tremendously and was in motion, playing with a streak of blue light. Had I really lived in this place before? Now that I thought about it, I could not even remember how I’d gotten here and where I’d been. And you were gone. But who had you been? All that was left was longing – as undefined and wavering as the blue light.
– James Steerforth ( © 2008 )
Written for Café Writing’s April project #4, Can you picture that?
Photograph © by L. H. Prior.
great job james.. you brought the whole photo alive in your work.. a place so desolate and dead…i did this one to .. poetry tho…
James – i like what you did here – you really inhabited this picture and made it yours. Very conversational and convincing. G
“All that was left was longing – as undefined and wavering as the blue light.”
That’s a marvelous line – I loved where you took us in your thoughts about this place.
Really fantastic. I also like the very last line.
Love this one, James!
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