Follow by Email

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Another Short Story....The Last Hot View





Wrote this the other day for no particular reason although I have been reading some of Hemingways Short Stories which maybe inspired me. In particular this one...

http://records.viu.ca/~lanes/english/hemngway/vershort.htm


Anyhow, for your reading pleasure or torment depending on how you look at it I present....

The Last Hot View

The skyline was amazing. It was at once jawdropping yet at the same time belittling. Hundreds of miles of vistas and buttes ringing life affirming at the same time demeaning, marginalizing, sucker punching the soul. The orange yellow hue of horizon harkening, begetting memories to the fall of leaves in northeastern autumn with their gradual changing of sepia that varied from leaf to leaf.

It was a grandiose type of view that empowers and enlivens the strong and disparages and mocks the weak. A view that makes a strong willed bull of man out to conquer the world and tell a smaller willed docile with the thoughts of “whats the point,why bother, whats the use.”

Looking out into the vastness of universe he felt the dry wind on his face. It was a hot, moisture sucking wind that took any detectable amount of emollient from the skin and instantly pulled it from the body, instantly dissipating it into the atmosphere. The sides of mouth showing the beginning stages of white chafe, crack, and peel adorned to the determined gaze of one who had seen at all yet at the same time nothing.

Looking down he kicked some top dirt with his boot, taking a mental note of how each sweep of boot over the dry top earth revealed a dark mineral rich sub soil as the upper layer of scorched terra was swept aside and formed small piles in the range of his gait.

He thought about using his new found method of earth scrape to leave a final parting message before his descent with several options coming to mind with thoughts ranging from personal and heartfelt, to astute and clever, to acerbic and biting, to ridiculous and cryptic shooting a wry smirk with thoughts of “Trix are for Kids, I told you I was sick, Lady GaGa Nation, We deem these rights to be self evident” as possible last final conveyed message.

Crouching down he ran the sand through his fingers and basked and bathed in the simple nuances of temperature and texture sand falling to earth through fingers and how a few remaining granules stuck to his palm. Using a sweeping motion of his fingertips to remove the last bits of sand from palm in a smooth, stream lined motion.

Shaking his head in crouch, and looking up to see deep into the line of the horizon he realized it didn't matter now. The sure touch down pass he dropped in high school glory days, the wife and daughter he left in Amarillo, Robert and Luis over at Rileys Pub, the punch he threw at an overreaching, overzealous boss on the one of hundreds of job sites he worked on formerly-none of it mattered now.

The thigh muscle in his right leg went into a quick instinctive psuedo spasm as varied memories flashed at lightning speed each memory like a bb fired from a bazooka with each micro projectile putting a small chink into his guard and made his toes curl inside the suede work boot he was wearing.

He spat and took a few steps towards the side of the precipice, spitting one more time over the side and trying to count the seconds before he lost visual. He made note of how the large green gumballs affixed to the side of the canyon gradually became smaller as they made their way to the bottom of the canyon floor and how the yellowed zig zagging streak of trail looked haphazard in its creation. It lacked the orderly consistency of roads and highways which made him think that nature is indeed random. Summoning his inner Greek Philosopher he wondered why gods creations were generally a symphonic anarchy which created beauty while mans desire to create and build equated to a consistent, orderly path of towering gray monoliths.

He thought about things he would never feel again. The Warm bask of his mothers hug as child, the first sip of coffee on cold winters morn, the thick secure constriction offered by a new pair of socks, the crash of waves, the smell of wet hay, the texture of carpet, the spicy burn of jalapenos, the sound of a saxophone, the smooth metal frame of his red Schwinn.

He looked back and saw his champagne colored car off in the distance with the headlights still beaming like 2 piercing eyes albeit not as bright as they did an hour earlier, noting he probably should have given his cd collection and the coins in his ashtray to the homeless guy off of Bryant avenue he passed on the drive up.

Taking one more step to the last, final patch of earth before gravity reared its ugly head, he took a deep breath and one more step terra firma free where the free fall decent and rushing of air up across his body gave him a sensation not too unlike a large drop on a roller coaster or plunge down a waterfall while rafting. The rushing air filled his shirt and jacket with a slight parachute effect though not nearly enough to make a lick of difference at the end of the day. 

The Sides of the canyon wall started to blur with hues of greens and browns and his breathing became moments of short gasps of air along with bouts of just holding his breath entirely. There was no right, there was no wrong, there just.....was.

No comments: