-- Roxy ---
concentric circles,
passed through each other
fluid
passing through themselves,
to make themselves.
steeped in the clatter
, to chatter
--
Roxy was her name,
Roxy had 2 arms to move things
Roxy had 2 legs to move her things
Roxy had a conception.
Roxy worked to move the earth below her. It led her places.
a lot of places.
"too many places", she thinks
walk through the empty lot, she did
glimpse into the dusty windows, she also did
a door, ajar,
venturing seemed to her,
an encompassing time.
shelves,
holding things.
some of use,
a lot, not
she picked up a can,
it's weight signified it's content,s existence
Roxy had 1 pocket to match 1 of her hands.
it now held a shifting mysterium of unsettling stance
sub
Roxy walked back out into the shade of the earth,
the streets still had lights,
"were they always this bright?"
"did they always move like this?" Roxy thought
"perhaps"
the stream of lights swayed like Roxy's legs,
a lot turned into a pathway 2
street moving,
the drift of an unfastened dock,
Roxy,
was at a fence.
it served no purpose,
the height of her knees,
she could walk over it,
and she
did.
the doorknob was a screwdriver, ext to he doorknob
the place for the screwdriver was in the dirt n t
the lock was unnecessary
she knew it
so she didn't turn it.
the bed was made of clothes and blankets,
the can opener lay on a table in the corner of the room
it lay there all day,
in wait
if the can opener could see, it would have appreciated the sunset earlier that
evening
but it was as
much,
as
heavy,
as the
rest
of
it.
the glass of the algae stained window frame was b
eautiful
in a way,
always
was
somewhere
in
some "pined Roxy"
way,
beyond the glass, a field lay behind,
rolling grass
however,
only so as you watched it,
["about waist high" Roxy once thought years ago.]
otherwise,
as still as the unlooked-upon window,
the wind of Roxy in the house
fed the curtains,
directing the waves of grass,
inspiring the insect fauna
which communed with the other forms forming that particular field,
baring witness...
and they did.
rettib saw nac eht
tnetnoc eht naht gniniatsus erom latem eht.
leuf tekcor.
deremmilg nac eht no enihs eht.
gniziteppa erom raf ,llew sa thgil.
.
"''ambiguity breeds thought like two mice fornicating''"
Roxy summoned into her consciousness
conjured by the sight of an orange cat sleeping next to the white fence
"children played in that yard" thought Roxy
it wasn't merely rain and the wind which weathered the ground so.
Roxy remembered her foot catching the side of the fence one morning,
brittle in a wet, mildewy, decaying way
the post split
the divide ran between
the nails that held the support to
the supplementary support of
the neighboring beams
it still stood ready
and enumerable moments after the event,
immediately stood still.
Roxy may have never known that memory
if she didn't look close enough at the fence.
the can was still bitter, but the can was now her skin
her thoughts as metal,
parading on it's particular reflective display,
"was her mind a mirror like the rusty underside of this can?"
mimed Roxy,
...
at a familiar reflection
just then...
or maybe
it was right then...
a noise.
it was particular in pitch,
very low,
but very particular.
almost reminiscent of a broken toy she played with as a child
the batteries were worn and tired,
the toy once moved by itself ,
but had aged
it did however, make a carrying noise ,
akin to the cry of an owl
perceived at an immensely
slow
rate
a cry which,
when it ends,
you have the strange urge to listen to it again
but Roxy knew better.
---
Roxy still liked the toy.
She walked to the man who fathered her,
he was a tall man (to her)
"about two of me"
'getting going' was where she was apparently going,
at least that is what she was told
by this double her.
Roxy is already used to the rate of things flying past her at incredible speeds
"it is hard to see things like this",
Roxy stated,
staring at individual blades of grass until the
moving frame she
inhabited
obscured it's contact.
mere "moments"
, Roxy attempted
Roxy eventually gave up on individual blades of grass and took to looking in
the distance,
there things moved slower
there things were more reasonable
(at this pace).
was she racing that wondrous mountain?
it certainly moved as she did
"if they did race, it was certainly all in good fun."
it's florescent peaks drifting through the humid air,
patterned wisps of potential condensation,
it stuck to the top of the mountain
as the mountain barreled through it.
"was she barreling?"
the car Roxy was in came to a slower pace,
to an even slower pace, to an equatable crawl,
and eventually to a stop.
things moved backwards as she averted her gaze from the mountain peak to the
relative distance of the pavement below her.
she fixed her vision on the junction of the rubber tire and hot tar to see if
she was actually traveling backwards.
the vehicle was fixed
she looked back to the mountain,
it drifted as she did
---
Roxy "always hated" the purpose of this trip.
meeting people she knew second or third hand.
even more confused because she only had 2 hands, and did
not yet understand how to manage a third.
"3", she thought,
'Three'
she mentioned three to everybody at the party,
(at least everyone she couldn't shake her third-hand with)
"this is acceptable", the partygoers rationalized
Roxy was requested to bring a fat man a woozy, horrifically daft smelling
beverage with ice in it.
the fat man called it something else.
Roxy put three ice cubes and an excessive amount of the prickly liquid into a
glass that was "adequate" for her 2 child-size hands.
the fat man saw the glass and proceeded to emit a fat smile
"Thank you darling"
"There is nothing darling about me"
the fat man didn't hear this,
he removed one of the ice cubes and pretended to savor the pickled fluff.
---
Roxy had to stay here,
in this big house,
with these big people,
in her big room,
with her big bed,
fabric draped from the 4 posts
Roxy reasoned,
in the off-case that the decoratively adorned windows (that she coul
d easily walk standing out of) happened to burst open from a flash hurricane sp
ontaneously appearing 80 miles inland, spinning a slurry of swarms-and-more-swa
rms of flying arthropods in the height of mating season, helpless beetles caugh
t ferociously in an unending-updraft, twisted remnants of pulverized corn stalk
s, and abandoned carapaces directly into her large and relatively empty room.
not only would the netting prevent the bugs and husks from touching the fine
fabric of the bedding,
but she could plainly view the whole affair without interruption.
---
"The next day" Roxy rigorously thought.
it was hot, it was dry,
even when it rained later in the day,
it was dry.
nobody wanted drinks today,
nobody wanted anything today,
"I guess today was willed out of existence"
---
the next day the rain had created tiny little tributaries in the small imperfec
tions of the meticulously laid concrete of the promenade.
Roxy mapped them like veins.
it wasn't yet time to 'go'
another circadian rhythm had to beat
she could feel it like the counting of the beating of her heart,
which she did.
Roxy waded through the fat and tall people.
"were these people here?"
Roxy minorly fathomed before then immediately putting the question to experimen
t
there was a pool of water,
it had water shooting out of it
the water then fell down, back into the pool
"highly poetic"
Roxy's said to herself out loud,
with the snarky voice of a butler who has buttled a bit too long to have
the will to consider considering themselves much more than 'alive'
.
--
Roxy watched a dog eat a patch of dandelions in the front lawn.
it walked around the white fence
(as the fence really enclosed nothing).
"all this time..."
Roxy didn't know that dogs ate dandelions...
---
Roxy's picnic was to be held in this voracious pool. She grabbed the nearest ta
ble and dragged the gothic white, paint-adorned metal across the cement, leavin
g scarring trails of paint that would submit lingering traces for following yea
rs.
Roxy tipped the table over the small dam which defined the pool and the boiling
hot concrete.
Roxy wondered why she didn't think of this earlier.
Roxy righted the table and proceeded to drag 2 nearby chairs
(also falsely white in their fauve covering)
and placed them rightly and leftly at the adjusted table.
feeling incomplete,
Roxy walked (quite far) into the garden and tore up a few giant blooming flower
s and proceeded to befit the pièce de résistance for her 'control table' with t
heir likelihood.
(they were already withering, but at least at a slower rate in the presence
of the perpetual rain).
setup completed, she sat down leftly at the table.
(or so)
she yelled at the twelfth person that passed by to bring her a glass of
water, she was thirsty.
about 2 minutes later she was handed a glass of water from the far side of the
d
a
m
.
Roxy nearly died of a horrible case of pneumonia from staying at that
place-setting 3 hours past sunset.
nearly a full month of bed rest righted the innards of Roxy's body.
during the event,
Rightly served briefly as a footrest...
without much opinion on the whole matter.
--
the temperature outside was the temperature of Roxy.
the temperature inside was slightly more comfortable.
Roxy had created an amorphous dartboard on the wall.
There wasn't anybody to play cricket with,
they played at night as she slept
(at least Roxy believed they did).
sometimes Roxy would imagine throwing the darts,
keeping track of her score;
she didn't play against herself anymore though.
sometimes, if Roxy could manage to acquire dyes of sorts,
she would roll up tiny paper balls, dip them, and shoot them like infected
spitballs at the board.
it was easier to keep track of her score this way,
but only the first time she played with a particular new dye.
there was quite a collection of little paper balls at this point,
the most marvelous colors had stained the wood, so she found little point
in cleaning them.
The pile was more interesting than the remnants of it.
after all,
"it didn't look that bad".
then one day,
when she was taking mind shots at the board,
hands still dyed a bleeding yellowish-orange from a previous session,
she witnessed an enormous spider peek itself out from the pile.
The spider itself looked big and black
and undefining of features,
but Roxy refused
( if she was to accept anything )
that this spider was just that.
Roxy walked towards the board (which she then realized she hadn't yet done
since making it).
Roxy perched on a single slat of floorboard as she inspected the last known
location of the large arachnid.
She did not want to disturb the pile which apparently
doubled as the spiders (at least temporary) residence,
for reasons previously stated.
Roxy watched intently.
Roxy thought she caught a glimpse of movement only to realize it was merely a
loose eyelash which she promptly removed.
Roxy wondered how intently she was watching, and if it was intent enough to
capture the subject.
Roxy noticed her legs hurt.
Roxy noticed the shadows had passed quite some distance, the distance that
mutates sharply defined outlines into ill-defined beckoning monoliths.
Roxy noticed she regretted that she was beginning to wonder if she saw a spider
at all.
Roxy noticed blood pooling in her feet, and that she could no longer feel them.
Roxy stood up quickly and her feet rushed back into her body
at the same
steady
rate
of
the
rhythm
of
her
strongly
beating
heart.
Roxy imagined that this must be akin to what the swaddled prey of the spider
would feel as it had it's juices sucked from it,
(if it could)
(and vilely)
and then oddly , pumped back in.
Roxy fell down on the floor and decided her body didn't feel like getting back
up,
she let the rhythms of sleep take to healing her.
--
Roxy woke up with a small grouping of 3 spiderbites on her left ankle,
and about a dozen more scattered across her legs.
Roxy, vigorously thirsty, proceeded to drink twice the amount of water her body
could properly handle in half the time it took to pour it.
vessels out of whack: Roxy took to gauging
the relative time of day.
it didn't particularly matter what the answer was,
the phony game of
question and answer
always seemed to be
worthwhile
in this manner.
it was half past 11am.
----
" Tuesday-
I was sitting on a bridge looking downwards towards a stream.
The water kept flowing below me.
I was waiting for it to stop, but the more I watched, the more it kept moving.
After some time of intently staring, it appeared that the river started (or had
already begun) to increase it’s rate of flow. I gazed onward, witnessing the
torrent accelerate to unyielding, inebriating degrees; merely from fact that I
had continued to leer onwards with such wonder.
I quickly hurried off "
--
it was half past noon.
the sun spoke to Roxy in this manner.
there was a hole in the roof of the porch which, when initially observed, was
meticulously filed down to form a distinct arrow that could be traced on
the floor.
notches were initially marked to signify relative events...
• the mark in the morning when Roxy got hungry and should generally injest some
thing of substance so as to be able to operate properly at the next mark.
• the mark when the alarm clock in the building across the street would start
to go off.
[Roxy never went over there to shut it off,
despite her fascination of how it managed to do so.]
• the mark when the alarm clock automatically stopped.
• the mark she gathered to be noon as the sun appeared directly above her head
(which she measured by looking up and spinning in circles)
• the last mark visible on the wall of the porch before the sun's angle reaches
such a manner as to no longer be able to pierce the timemaker's tools.
Roxy spent 3 days watching the slit slither across the wooden porch,
counting in her head at inconsistent rates,
hoping that with the course of a few days, she could reason between them.
8:45am - 4:35pm,
she gathered that her minute hand spanned (at this time of year).
it was quarter past 2.
---
the attic to Roxy's house was unhinged from the world Roxy inhabited. she based
this mildly on the fact that not once did anybody else ever go in there
(at least to her recollection).
then Roxy wondered,
if that was so,
how did all these ancient dusty objects get in here?
surly they must have always been here,
as the house always had stood on the ground,
as the ground always was placed on this street,
as the street always had existed since it was paved.
the half window at the end of the attic let in just the right amount of
sunlight to illuminate everything inside;
at least enough for Roxy's young, fresh eyes.
Roxy would lay next to the dust and stare at the various cobweb hamlets and
municipalities;
running along their connecting tissue which spanned beam to beam
Roxy was told that cobweb's were not made by spiders, but in fact just a manner
in which dust collected over time. She didn't know if she could believe
the person that disposed these so called 'facts'
- for the roads and sideroads,
- long swaying bridges and lingering supports,
- offramps and dead ends seem(ed) too intricate
to not be laid by the likes of some tiny
little creature making an elaborate maze,
treacherous to mites and moths,
but nostalgically home to
the invisible spinners which gracefully sprawled across
them.
Roxy never disturbed the cobweb s unless they infringed upon her ability to
open an unseen suitcase`
generally holding nothing but unworn clothing or
(apparently
spare)
rusted hand tools.
one day Roxy was in the attic
(always at express disapproval of her parents)
sitting on the opposite end of where the mid-day sun was
she was staring at a particular patch of dense construction
work and noticed movement that did not match the flow of
her breath;
nor with the slight breeze which crept up
through the
cracks in
the floor.
intrigued,
she looked around,
finding a spare box of matches which was discarded with a large box of
various outdoor cooking supplies
,
Roxy pulled the box out of its containing box ,
the side strikes were almost smooth and charred a heavy coal color,
the box felt light ,
Roxy opened it up to discover that she had 2 matches with which to attempt to
illuminate the movement Roxy felt inexorably tied to investigating .
Roxy pulled out a long,
tall
match
and swiped it fiercely against the side of the box.
Her expectations outweighed the result as nothing much happened.
She tried again,
this time on the other side of the box,
noticing far more grip existed there.
her now lowered expectations ignited into a burst of iridescent green and
cobalt blue before
taking a
steady, orange hold
on the
wooden
handle.
the excitement of her found firework faded,
but a far grandeur excitement compounded as she
moved towards the small hustle and bustle of the
attic's possibly newly inhabited village.
Roxy crept ever closer,
watching the flame so as to be at a safe distance to not ignite the
potential townsfolk.
Roxy placed her head “viewing distance” from the gathering masses of webs and
weaves. her eyes adjusted to the new surroundings.
Roxy witnessed a tiny 8 legged arachnid hanging off a sideroad.
it was translucent in color, the candle Roxy burned poured straight through the
creature.
it didn't seem to mind,
or even notice.
It was slightly clearer to make out the distinct grapplings and graceful
m o v e m e n t s
of the c r e a t u r e via the stark edges of the barely opaque shadow,
but Roxy's eyes had not shifted focus from the body of the creature.
"why is it hanging there so"
"does it's new nest disprove the cobwebs of time? or are they inseparable?"
Roxy stared; her candle burned into the delicate skin of her fingertips,
shaking out of instinct,
the illumination ended…
---
A few days later somebody left the burner to the range
of the stove on and the whole house had caught fire.
Roxy no longer questioned the unending origin of the attic
which she could no longer enter.
--
Roxy was on the porch.
earlier that evening she had taken one of her standard morning trips to one
of the standard shops.
the supplies were getting less and less abundant, as
nobody was restocking them.
the selection was becoming a bit too distilled
for Roxy to handle.
pineapples were a pleasant surprise,
found underneath a corner shelving rack,
turned in such a way that it seemed someone had been hiding it there for a
later date.
Roxy was looking down the road.
the juice from the can was a yellow sweet, surely
this was the pinnacle of dirt loving fruits.
the clock ticked, and
she felt something
churn in her.
not the pineapples, they were fresher than anything nowadays.
she ignored the churning and watched the clouds drift high above,
wondering if they would one day choose to fly so low
as to greet the structure she lived in.
the clock ticked again.
the alarm blared.
it was as unstartling as the sound of a waterfall residing outside
one's bedroom window.
Roxy had the feeling she should go inside the house,
so she did…
---
"leave the toy alone!"
Roxy screamed at the child
the kid was bashing the little plastic body against the hard floor,
it didn't know any better.
a mere flailing of it's limbs...
as children do.
work those muscles,
tune those neural pathways,
make sure coordination is prim
and proper.
it was too late, the toy was damaged.
it's turnable head made a grinding sound,
it's posable arms posited themselves a few feet from it's body
it's feet awkwardly sat backwards as if it's self were being grossly
twisted around part by part.
it's voice still spoke,
albiet,
a bit labored.
"why did we move here?"
Roxy repeated in her head.
it was out of her control, she knew.
children have no say in what they do.
the child was drooling
with a bright smile on it's face,
unaware of the havoc it has caused.
like the trample of a hiking boot sinking deep into an unseen anthill.
Roxy picked up the dismembered body parts and left
"ignorant child'
to steep in it's own drool.
--
Roxy had taken additional trips to the store the past 2 weeks.
She had accumulated a security stash of food that filled up what
she supposed
was once the original pantry of her now living
arrangement.
Roxy had cleaned out one of the stores with the exception of plastic fluff
and riff-raff
that she
could not eat.
Roxy still had 2 other stores in reasonable walking distance
with supplies,
but given the amount she had currently accumulated,
she could easily spend an {____} in her house without the
need to leave her wall-
dart-
art-
in-progress.
Roxy figured she could make something really beautiful in that time,
if she decided to ignore her understanding of the frailty
of every surface of this house
(she supposed, that she was hoping for just slightly more permanence
to her hard work than the tumbling walls provided).
then again, she didn't have to limit her Roxy-self to the typical mediums of
color and canvas.
in her postulations,
she would sit and think,
and always came to find,
the sun had it's own plans in the same vein.
the vista from her porch on one particular evening was more astounding than eve
r,
possibly because of the purple skies gathering in the distance.
recently they had been recurring as more firesome in orange and red,
so the violet sight
that gave fall to the blocks
surrounding her house
were transcending,
and
hypnotic.
frankly,
--
it was one particular morning,
the sky mixed a velvety purple with a baby-spinach-leaf green.
it caused Roxy to summon a thought
which made it imperative to keep eyes on her clock.
her hunger bore resemblance to it's respective marker and she sanctioned
reserves from her cave of preservatives.
It was when the light had decided to somehow skip the mark of the alarm across
the street that she suddenly churned again.
Roxy had thought that she heard the familiar ringing, only to realize
her (only-so-vivid)
imagination had
placed the ringing there for a sense of continuance
.
in waiting,
she realized the mark for the alarm across the street was the
first one she made when fashioning her clock.
it was the largest and deepest mark engrained in the porch flooring.
the arrow of light, which had a bit of width about it,
had almost entirely passed the consequent mark when the shrill sound of
the alarm cameabout,dancingintoherear.
The alarm,
though short and repetitive
and repetitive in nature,
did not start on
it's regular cadence.
it felt abrupt and intrusive;
startinginsuchthemannerthatitdid.
it was somehow again,
to Roxy'surprise,
that the alarm
,only moments later
,was hastily quieted.
the mark's on the floor no longer respected the laws of the world around her
the arrow jumped.
2 hours had either passed instantaneously
(in the house across the street,)
or all of everything
continued it's unending spin,
without respect to her.
Roxy churned.
oh how Roxy churned...
Roxy felt again that she not only should go inside,
but that inside was all there was.
if she did not manage to make it in there within the next few fleeting moments,
Roxy would be nothing more than one of the marks on the floor. marks which appa
rently no longer held any significant meaning.
Roxy was inside.
the door was locked, "had I locked that?"
was Roxy at that moment.
(now)
the consistent field beyond the window grew (now) noticeably silent,
a noise came about, abrupt, yet quite far away.
the pitch carried, and
it was getting closer, for
it was getting louder.
Roxy lay on the floor, "was she shaking?"
Roxy was shaking.
the noise was the stampede of a nightmare of a parade.
a celebration of
disembodied misery
laughter
dancing and swaying
closer-and-closer
in a self-referential
,,,,,,comical manner.
Roxy stopped shaking as the hum of millions of soft footsteps were now on her
street.
They were within reaching distance of the small picket fence;
had it small picket arms with which to reach out.
the parade continued onward, for an uncountable time.
the start of it all,
once it had reached the screeching limit of her home,
bore no differentiation
to any part afterwards.
like static without ends;
for it simply exists.
time seemingly
seemed to pass
differently in
this manner.
Roxy was frankly unsure if time was passing,
how much of it she was loosing,
how much of it she was gaining
,as if she owned time.
Roxy certainly,
if asked by the non-existent passerbys,
could state that it had been:
"quite a while",
and she would have felt justified in that response.
by the time the static has dissipated,
Roxy equally could not tell how long it had been since the parade had gone.
Roxy's churning ceased
it signified that she could begin to comprehend what has happened.
Roxy walked outside on the porch to use her main tool of reference,
her eyes ran the length of the gamut before realizing that
it was pitch black outside.
night had come
, and unfortunately
, the moon did not provide the same consistency the sun did.
--
"it was the next day, at least",
and Roxy walked up and down the street.
the feeling upon it was the same.
the parade had left such a great lack of any trace
that it disturbed her.
Not that such a thing could be so pervasive and secretive,
but that it seemed the street itself
was falsified to hide
something.
"was too familiar even a concept?"
Roxy felt as she gripped her bare toes on the pavement.
The sound of the loose gravel was real, more-so than it had been,
ever
so as to be
so,
,almost sharp,
,it was cutting into the base of her feet.
,
however,
her blood remained contained within her frame.
it was earlier than normal,
Roxy surmised.
she went back to test her time reference for validity.
she was not hungry, and that time had passed.
the real test however, )lack of(
seemed to be the dismal (lack of) alarm,
which awaited itself
about 11 inches from the moment she remembered the
abrupt nature of the alarm's disposal the day prior.
the clock ticked,
Roxy tocked in an attempt to cope with the anticipation.
---
Roxy was very excited, and this was a strange occurrence, at least this level
of excitement was.
Roxy was going to an amusement park,
and Roxy loved being amused.
barely able to focus on what was going on outside the car window, her mind
fluttered with images of swirling chairs, colorful treats, performing acto
rs, and log flumes.
Roxy expected - the park to be closed,
- a ride to have malfunctioned
- injuring a bunch of park-goers
- the whole experiment shut down to avoid any further legal
complications.
But as she neared the entrance, Roxy witnessed cars packed tightly,
like canned fish,
"for as far as her adept eyes could see"
(through the slats of the tall fence).
Her mother paid the attendant for the ticket to park and she could not imagine
that she would actually get to ride the rolling coaster which towered over the
gated walkway entrance.
where,
at the moment,
so many other attendees swung shared turnstyles
to push forward their built in counting mechanisms.
The car was parked,
Roxy was hesitant to even get out.
Her mother pulled a big cooler from the trunk and signalled Roxy to
'come on'.
Roxy cannot recall a single memory from the rest of the day
spent at that amusement park.
--
the light was reaching the large carving
"only moments now"
, Roxy reminded herself.
the first beams began to breach the edge of the pocket her knife had made.
nothing
the crevice was half illuminated with the arrow's weight.
silence
fully illuminated, the arrow encompassed the entire mark
nothing more
the anticipation was gone.
Roxy watched as the marks danced.
1 2
, by ,
1 2
on it`s way down the arrow’s path.
it was the mark for her second meal of the day,
but she was not hungry.
Roxy realized she had been staring at the marks for too long, and did not once
look in the actual direction of the sound she awaited so eagerly.
she looked abruptly up and across the street at the thought of her
(ignorance;)
(as if shockingly startled into doing so.)
what stared back at Roxy was the same sight she has seen earlier that day,
yesterday,
and whenever she chose
to pick and compare.
The marks were signifying that the sun would be going down soon, the sun was
also signifying this.
Roxy checked to see if she was churning,
she was not.
--
Roxy moved...
--
Roxy looked both directions before she crossed the street.
("was she mad?")
Roxy studied the building and realized that the front door was nailed shut,
most of the windows were boarded up.
Roxy did not want to go back for a pry bar,
lest the house across the street vanish by the time she got back.
circling
the perimeter
of the house,
Roxy noticed tornado-proof doors on the ground leading to a basement.
There was no chain, and no lock.
Roxy peered into the windows visible from her current perch next to the rusty
downward
entrance.
"wanting to not be seen...(?)"
there was no sign of anything,
she gripped the handle,
felt the rust turn to dust
and bake itself into the pores
and lines
of her hand.
--
the basement smelled as a basement should.
it was damp,
it was earthly.
it wanted to grow in onto itself
to make the basement obsolete.
There was but a few floating crates
(or remnants of them)
in the big empty room.
it appears the basement was constructed to span the full of
the house's floorplan.
through glistening reflections
from the wading pool at her feet ,
she made out the staircase .
a railing made of plumbing pipes ,
stable as ever .
,
.
,
she made her way across the liquid foundation
as the wake of her movements rattled the concrete walls
.
, the stairs went upwards
.
so Roxy went likewise ,
.
,
one stair creaked trepidatiously upon shifting her weight to it
but her instincts did not hinder her movements
so the stair readily held
,
.
,
there was a door at the top step.
,
wood paneled, with a small sign
hung by a piece of twine ,
wrapped around a jutting nail.
,
the sign read...
,
.
,
.
,
.
,
┌──────────────────┐
│ Home. Sweet Home │
└──────────────────┘
----
" (day of the week) --
I found that old toy in an old box of belongings that I was supposed to parse
through after my father's funeral. I decided after the ceremony and necessary
proceedings to go into town and look to see if someone could repair it.
I happen to find an old watchmaker who seemed to be the only person with any
'handy experience' left.
I walked in and showed him the toy, he said he could fix it but he would need
my help.
We went into the back of his shop where the walls were covered with tiny,
distinct hand tools. There were various cabinets and chests of drawers which
filled the remaining non-working space. These were full of seemingly less
organized other tools which did not make their way to be in plain sight.
The tools were oddly shaped specialized winders of spring mechanisms,
scatterings of spare gears finely crafted for specifically toothed cogs, angled
pliers that could reach into the most obscene of places.
He set the toy down at his workbench and instructed me to find for him a
specific tool, it was in this or that drawer, behind this other bigger tool.
Over the course of his work, he required only about 5 different tools which I
somehow readily found given his vague directions.
As he worked on the toy, we talked. It turns out he knew my father, and he was
sad to hear the news of his passing. They had only met once when his wristwatch
had broken due to an unfortunate fall. The front glass was apparently shattered
and he had to replace both hands of the piece. Taking care to provide some
maintenance to other parts of it, he assumed he had done a good job, for he was
the only watch repairman around and had not seen my father again.
We also talked about his wife who died two years prior. How he single handedly
replaced the hot water heater in his house (while accidentally forgetting to
turn off the gas). The curious set of mice in his house, one black, one white,
which he had named "Fred and Percy".
I stopped watching his motions after a while, as we were chatting pretty
heavily, until he presented me the now repaired toy.
It looked new, like it had just been taken out of a dusty suitcase after a long
hibernation.
The common marks on it were still engraved in the toy's plastic body, but the
man managed to repaint the eyes, and parts of the robot's apposable arms back
to their original full color and luster, all without me even noticing he had a
paintbrush in his hand.
He handed me the toy and apologized as, for all the things he had, he did not
have a pair of batteries to replace the old ones.
He also thanked me and said he could never have done it without my help.
He stated that 'he could never find anything in his workshop worth a damn
anymore' "
--
Roxy placed her hand on the doorknob and it gave a gentle push.
The door swung open like it`s hinges were refusing
the laws of friction;
that is,
until moments before it was to slam into the adjoining wall.
at this point,
the hinges graciously took hold
to bring the towering momentum to a logarithmic,
silent
stop.
the house was colorful, despite the fact that most walls were painted an o
ff-white.
it was inviting, so Roxy walked in.
the view of the kitchen had motion about it.
every object, pristine.
The only real things which differed from the same things which are new things
were minor marks and scuffs of a comfortable,
lived-in
kind.
Roxy thought how it made everything seem. even more new.
There was a dining table with a cerulean cloth adorning it's naked top.
There is a cabinet full of spices,
with beautifully hand crafted labels denoting the experiences within.
There would be a door slightly ajar,
exposing a plethora of baking ingredients and other long standing, non
-perishable goods.
There are paintings of flower pots and fruits of varying size,
which had booked their respective vacancies in the open areas of wall.
The floral curtains left no indication
that just on the other side of them
were slats of boarding,
held to the house's frame
with harsh
nails.
On the left there was an open-arched entranceway which lead into a room contain
ing a plush love-seat whose color matched that of the table's cloth.
a wooden rocking chair with wicker backing.
a quilt which graciously hung on the wall (budding flowers all it's own).
a small table in the middle of the room which announced it would hold thin
gs if you let it; and would do so unendingly; and without respite.
Roxy had since circled the home's small layout and was back at the stairs which
led up to the second floor.
---
Roxy's mother kept telling her to stop sneaking out after it got dark.
Roxy gathered that she had no other choice,
she couldn't sneak out in the daytime.
-----
these stairs bore a gently curved and finely polished railing which let the nat
ural grain of the wood shine clear through. every rung shuffled a vague reflect
ions of light off it,s hinted-brown paint coating as Roxy's eyes moved through
the beams.
The same stair creaked, but muffled within the
softer surroundings.
the top of the stairs lead to a graciously narrow hallway which
ran straight into what was obviously a bathroom.
To the right there was a single closed door,
to the left there was a skinny closed door and a doorway-sans-door.
The nearest door was the skinny one,
which
upon turning its golden
oxidized
handle,
revealed small shelves of various linens.
Some were meticulously folded,
the other half were obviously used much more,
and left a feeling of wanting;
to be brought out to delicately embrace something exuding warmth.
the other closed door was next in the lineup, but after placing her hand upon t
he warm silver knob, felt as though she should not yet open it; as if she would
be invading someone's privacy.
the open door hang 3 feet to her left,
and her 2 legs swam like swans to the grand entranceway.
----
The sight of an old woman
laying on a plush twin-size bed
fell upon Roxy's (relative to the woman in the bed's)
young eyes.
The old woman was alive,
but appeared tired,
or in need.
Roxy had readily absorbed the dresser and grand mirror attached to the backing,
ignoring the clothing which crept out of some of the partially open drawers.
Roxy noticed the painting on the wall, clearly visible from any direction thank
s to the great size of the mirror. A painting of an even older looking woman th
an the one in the bed.
'obviously of no relation'
Roxy found a small stool by a small table which held tiny make-up knick knacks.
Roxy walked over and moved the stool slightly closer to the bed.
it hovered across the carpet.
Roxy perched on the stool and looked at the old woman.
Some time has passed,
but Roxy is no longer counting.
The old woman came to... as if awaking from a recurring dream,
parted her eyelids,
and upon realizing her state of being,
took to gliding her prim and glossy eyes over to Roxy.
"Hello "
whimpered an old lady.
" It is really a wonderful thing to see you"
aged cheeks reclaimed to their natural shape,
wrinkles fell into their lifelong-etched form,
expressed a monstrously inviting smile.
" I'm glad you still came to see me, regardless.
I could make you some...
"
the old woman attempted
to get up but the thin layer of blankets that covered her,
pinned her frame down.
" Well... "
the old woman moved her head and looked around the room.
" I have something for you, I didn't think
you would come, but I
prepared it just in case you did."
her face melded into one of gratitude.
" ...and I am really glad you did "
the old woman's arms could still move things as she pushed the covers (ju
st enough) to allow her to reach the front of the neighboring nightstand.
her withery and veiny arms beated a dark blue and deep purple.
her knuckly hands knocked between the metal handle and oak of the drawer
as she twisted her forearm
to properly slide it open.
she reached inside and pulled out something in a closed hand.
"come here"
Roxy was now at the old woman's immediate bedside.
the old woman used her now mobile other hand to finagle Roxy's own in
much the same way she did the drawer.
She formed a cup with Roxy's hands and dropped into it something hard.
the old woman said...
"it still works, it's miraculous
by all accounts.
but I don't need it anymore "
the old woman sighed relief.
" sometimes things have to...
you know...
something, someplace, someone, or other... "
utter malaise was Roxy.
it started in her hands as the heavy object grew in weight.
it jumped through her skin,
down her arm
into her chest,
down her heart,
into the recesses where the new,
overtly heavy beating
pulsated from.
"do you know that memories, they are like
a child's toy pail...
you know, the ones they play with at the beach . "
Roxys heart could be heard in her head.
"it's really only so big, though,
the pail can only hold so much sand."
Roxy's whole body pulsated.
"but that is not a sorrowful thing dear, even
though it feels that way,
I suppose it's a different kind of sorrow , an effortless kind"
Roxy felt the indivisible fragments of her blood shifting as
they coursed throughout her body.
every
moment
that
passed
was
an
inexorable
wave
of
imperceivableexternalmovementsandmotionsthatimpactedadjustedimpaledandvibrated
,,, Roxy's body and soul
Yes, Roxy had a soul.
"and dear, that kind of sorrow...
it's more than
one could ever be"
Roxy was taken away,
thrown back into herself.
she was moved into a metaphysical blender and
juiced into a casting of her own form.
"take a listen dear…"
the old woman directed Roxy's still closed hand up to her ear.
Roxy was not certain if she was moving her hand,
if the old woman was moving her hand,
or if it was moving of it's own free will.
although she now knew it did have it's own free will.
Roxy's hand was next to her ear.
she listened closely as the old woman's fell back at her side.
Roxy listened,
Roxy subdued the horrifying sound of her own heart beating to provide clarity,
and listened.
her hand ticked,
it tocked.
it ticked again.
it tocked
to bring up the previous tick.
the rhythm,
the beat,
the pulse,
was the most consistent
, the most fluid thing
Roxy had ever beheld
just then
across the hall
in a closed room
an alarm went off