(no subject)
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jim struggled with the mattress. as he rounded the hallway corner he glanced towards the front door and realized how much work lay ahead of him. considering the payoff he wondered if the payoff was worth the hassle. the morning light was turning to harsh noon, and soon the sun would start its retreat. here he was, attempting to find respite from the home he had built. it was empty now, but it was still his. he had dragged the mattress from the upstairs room that he once found such comfort in as to wish to never leave. and yet here he was, dragging the damned thing out the front door. he made his way to the entryway and paused. the light was harsh but it was welcomed. the power had been turned off some time ago; maybe a day maybe a month. jim stared across the yard and across the road and into the field beyond. he had a goal in mind if not in sight. a place where the tall grasses obstructed any view of the town or the house or anything man-made. he started again with the mattress but it caught on the door frame now. there was a slight ripping sound and jim stumbled backwards as he lost grip on the quilted mattress top. he kicked the exterior wall of the two story abode and grabbed ahold of the bed that had held his vulnerable, sleeping frame for so many years. he freed it from the snag on the frame and dragged it across the porch. it left a smear in the dirt that caked the boards of the neglected porch. the swing in the corner had once held the promise of peach cobblers eaten while stories were told on the 6 steps leading to the gravel driveway, but now the whole scene seemed to mock him. The swing was mummified in cobwebs, the old webbing that crusted together into clumpy, less delicate strands. The stairs were rough, the splinters visible warnings against any sort of sitting or storytelling. jim bent down and lifted the mattress above his head in one graceless motion. he stumbled down the pave stone walkway to the gravel driveway and teetered for a moment at the road. he had been farther than this in over a month. his mouth was dry and cracked and begged for more whiskey or at least water. he considered dropping the bed and going back inside to nurse his aching head, but he knew that there was no going back now. he understood that this day had to be spent in a place unlike the tomb he allowed himself to construct. he had been alone in the dark for too long, and he had to face the real world. he had started off to a place that would allow him view of just a small enough part of the real world that he might begin to assimilate. the walk there would not be pleasant, but the sky and grass would no doubt have some sort of restorative effect on his soul. he ducked his head down now and let the weight of the springs and fabric carry him forward. he picked his path across the ditch that once irrigated the field and started off through the neglected but thriving field of tall grains. jim could not remember for the life of him what his father had grown. it might be grain, but it had become an unruly and overgrown weed in the preceding years. whatever use this crop had was lost upon him; it merely served as a hinderance to his getting to the site for his vacation. as he crossed the vast field of waving grains he felt the familiarity rising up inside of him. suddenly and all at once it filled his head and heart and his mouth burst forth in unison with his throat to make a sort of raspy, yelling proclamation. he dropped the mattress and stood for a moment, looking at the ground beneath his feet. the field had not been turned over in some time but he was sure that the wind and rain and natural way of things must have had some sort of effect on the dirt, but he knew that he recognized every rock and clod and shoot and remnant of life and mineral. where the stalks had been pushed aside by the mattress there was a new familiarity, or at least a comfortable understanding. this was his resting place, his place of respite. he had been here once long before, under different if not opposite circumstances, but it was as new and beautiful as it was old and haunting. he looked towards the town in the distance, turned once more to the house behind him, and dropped unceremoniously onto the old bed he had carried with him.
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jim struggled with the mattress. as he rounded the hallway corner he glanced towards the front door and realized how much work lay ahead of him. considering the payoff he wondered if the payoff was worth the hassle. the morning light was turning to harsh noon, and soon the sun would start its retreat. here he was, attempting to find respite from the home he had built. it was empty now, but it was still his. he had dragged the mattress from the upstairs room that he once found such comfort in as to wish to never leave. and yet here he was, dragging the damned thing out the front door. he made his way to the entryway and paused. the light was harsh but it was welcomed. the power had been turned off some time ago; maybe a day maybe a month. jim stared across the yard and across the road and into the field beyond. he had a goal in mind if not in sight. a place where the tall grasses obstructed any view of the town or the house or anything man-made. he started again with the mattress but it caught on the door frame now. there was a slight ripping sound and jim stumbled backwards as he lost grip on the quilted mattress top. he kicked the exterior wall of the two story abode and grabbed ahold of the bed that had held his vulnerable, sleeping frame for so many years. he freed it from the snag on the frame and dragged it across the porch. it left a smear in the dirt that caked the boards of the neglected porch. the swing in the corner had once held the promise of peach cobblers eaten while stories were told on the 6 steps leading to the gravel driveway, but now the whole scene seemed to mock him. The swing was mummified in cobwebs, the old webbing that crusted together into clumpy, less delicate strands. The stairs were rough, the splinters visible warnings against any sort of sitting or storytelling. jim bent down and lifted the mattress above his head in one graceless motion. he stumbled down the pave stone walkway to the gravel driveway and teetered for a moment at the road. he had been farther than this in over a month. his mouth was dry and cracked and begged for more whiskey or at least water. he considered dropping the bed and going back inside to nurse his aching head, but he knew that there was no going back now. he understood that this day had to be spent in a place unlike the tomb he allowed himself to construct. he had been alone in the dark for too long, and he had to face the real world. he had started off to a place that would allow him view of just a small enough part of the real world that he might begin to assimilate. the walk there would not be pleasant, but the sky and grass would no doubt have some sort of restorative effect on his soul. he ducked his head down now and let the weight of the springs and fabric carry him forward. he picked his path across the ditch that once irrigated the field and started off through the neglected but thriving field of tall grains. jim could not remember for the life of him what his father had grown. it might be grain, but it had become an unruly and overgrown weed in the preceding years. whatever use this crop had was lost upon him; it merely served as a hinderance to his getting to the site for his vacation. as he crossed the vast field of waving grains he felt the familiarity rising up inside of him. suddenly and all at once it filled his head and heart and his mouth burst forth in unison with his throat to make a sort of raspy, yelling proclamation. he dropped the mattress and stood for a moment, looking at the ground beneath his feet. the field had not been turned over in some time but he was sure that the wind and rain and natural way of things must have had some sort of effect on the dirt, but he knew that he recognized every rock and clod and shoot and remnant of life and mineral. where the stalks had been pushed aside by the mattress there was a new familiarity, or at least a comfortable understanding. this was his resting place, his place of respite. he had been here once long before, under different if not opposite circumstances, but it was as new and beautiful as it was old and haunting. he looked towards the town in the distance, turned once more to the house behind him, and dropped unceremoniously onto the old bed he had carried with him.
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