Time Pieces (working title) chapter 3

Sherry was staying at the same hotel as myself - we went to check if our rooms were ready and only mine was. She accompanied me to my room so she could “freshen up.” Her lips were puffy and her smile was soft. Her eyes were blue and her hair was jet black. She wore a pantsuit and a mans white shirt beneath the blazer. Her lipstick was red and her eyeliner was black. Her neck was long and tasted like perfume - a sweet and intoxicating flavor. When we finally got to the room we fell onto the bed and stayed there for the next several hours. She was a supermodel and somehow made me into a superman that afternoon. I truly was grateful for my 50 year old knowledge and 26 year old body.

Fifty

We are writers, artists, creators of universes trying to describe emotions in words, pictures or tunes. We are the red-headed step-child sleeping late always giving in at night to the seductiveness of sleep and dreams. Trying to succeed in a world where you are confined, forced to conform and to blend into the background is like trying to fit an elephant into a mole’s burrow. After a while we begin to implode; first comes the sadness, then the restlessness, the loneliness, the anxiety of wanting to run while chained to a fence. As we try to adapt to the burrows in which we live - like the scarecrow in an abandoned farm - we slowly succumb to the bites, the sun and the rain. We wither away eventually becoming one with the wind and scattered across the fields.