The day passed quicker than I anticipated, all the classes seeming like a blur. Although I had crumpled it up and thrown it into my bag, my mind kept refreshing the image, constantly bringing the face up with the fleeting snapshot my eyes had registered of the girl in the hallway. Why had I drawn her? What was going wrong with me?
School had ended, and as Troy and I walked towards the street where our houses lived side by side, I was still thinking about the picture, head bowed in concentration, rotating it over and over as Troy babbled on about "this babe who was so totally digging him", and then entered an extravagant descriptive rant on her appearance. Same old Troy, same old interests.
Our street was one of the most fortunate and beautiful in the district. Why, you ask? Well, firstly, it was lined with large maple trees which, now in autumn, turned the street into a living sea of golden red. Then there was the park at the end of the street, with a large grassy hill overlooking the rows of houses. In the daytime, especially during summer, the hill was washed with sunlight, creating the perfect picnic spot. Sunset was the most spectacular, for the sun falls behind the hill, making it the most breathtaking place to both see from afar and be. However, not many of the street's residents knew of this hidden treasure, with most of them too busy with their careers and studies. Typical, never pay attention to the finer details which create the surviving happiness in a being.
Turning the corner into our street, Troy suddenly stopped walking and talking. At first I didn't notice, until the quietness of my own footsteps registered in my mind. I looked up and behind me to ask him why he'd stopped. Instead of a verbal response, he simply lifted his hand and pointed to the far end of the street, to a figure with long amber hair, flowing in the soft wind. The figure was facing the hill, and in that instant, the sun began to set behind the hill, casting brilliant rays across the street, and illuminating the figure in front of me. It was an image I still carry with me in my minds eye to this day.
I turned back to Troy, only to my surprise he was right next to me, staring as well. "It's that girl!" he said in hushed tones, almost fearful of ruining the moment.
"So what?" I growled, knowing very well what he was hinting. Yet again though, in the place of saying something, he took a physical approach, and began to quickly shove me in the girl's direction. Loudly protesting, I was steadily herded towards her, desperately trying to escape Troy's long reach. Before long, we reached a point a few metres behind the girl, and with a final heave, Troy sent me stumbling, almost crashing into her. Waving his arms at the girl in shooing motions, I knew he was telling me to talk to her. I was already to close to just sheepishly leave, so summoning up my courage, I took a deep breath and said...
Studio B
- Mark
- When you need to wake up in the morning, and set the right mood for the day, when you need to escape from the overwhelming everything of life. What do you turn to? How do you describe your core without speaking aloud, without having to talk to someone about it? This is how. Music. Lyrics. Poetry. Do you feel it? Do you? It's here, it's everywhere, locked within you, within the most tone deaf of us. It's begging to be released, become unleashed in a tearing chord, a crying melody, soulful harmony, dying lyric. You feel it yet? It's concealed here, within every word that I write. This is my release. I want you to see it, to feel it with me. This pure expression of every tangible and imaginable emotion known and unknown to man. To me. Welcome to The Window.