A Brief Spark of Interest
A hypersensitive piece of creative writing that guides the writers' eyes through an environment from one room to another. Creating a hypersensitive reflection of the world.
The room was filled with curiosity. It seemed that no matter where I looked, my eyes would drown in the colourful whirlpool created by thousands of objects scattered across my room. My gaze skipped around, object to object, analysing one factor of the said object before choosing the next. What a jungle I have created.
The brittle stalk of a conifer on my desk table, slowly shedding its winter leaves. Its orange tinge spread across its space, and my eyes began to squint if I stared for too long. My very own morning sun late into the night.
A corkboard held most of my day-to-day life visible, so quick pinches of worry were soon replaced by a sea of exciting things to look at. Well cut out pieces of white paper with various ink colours hung across the brown sea of cork. The Portuguese were always a supportive source and reminded me of the nights underneath the Iberian moon. Stress has a weaker grasp there, easier to breathe.
A quick turn to the right and land on the mantelpiece, a more organised target. A golden olive wreath levitated above the surface, reminding me of the beginning of the craft I call my passion. For a split second, I smell the Mediterranean Sea, channel the Greeks ancient knowledge. What a fantastic feeling to be part of history and be able to write whatever we wish. A strange urge to get olives smacks me across the face – I am bleeding saliva.
In the food search, I lock eyes with my iPhone. Every time I look at it, I feel pride knowing I have this addictive substance under control. The digital drug available to anyone, with no restrictions. The silent killer that sinks you down its black screen, too irresistible. If tamed, its power is limitless, and its bearer will travel at warp speeds never before known to man. The medusa can be your mistress.
The thoughts of olives grow more robust, and my skips turn to leaps. I take in my surroundings in a tornado-like fashion. The wall-mounted head of our TV, what a beast; miraculously balanced gin bottles against tulip-shaped crystal cups; my partner's desk and her army of paintbrushes colour me from inside out. So refreshing.
I begin getting dizzy, so I begin to scan my surroundings with precision. I’m thirsty. My brain was running pretty quickly, so it’s only fair he gets to hydrate. He’s a good guy. Scan further, nothing. Scan better, no change. I might have to get up and refuel. Sorry for the delay.
My body is fighting against me to get out of my chair—gravity, why so ungrateful. Be kind and help be float to the river. The river resides within its metal bounds of the tap—the water snakes. I want that water, so I give everything I have within me to kickstart the jolt that, hopefully, will release me like a comet. I rise like a phoenix and stumble towards the kitchen. Quick manoeuvres in-between the corridors that lead to my goal. I’m unstoppable.
It’s always a great time walking through my home. Various pieces of art caress you as you walk by, so sensual. Wooden structures remind you that, if provoked, you have the power to challenge nature. Remember, if you end up in that battle, you are bound to lose. Do not get cocky. Continue on your quest.
The dim light of the kitchen is the only thing that you’re engaging in—a lost moth in need of water. You slow down, adjust your grounding, and walk into the kitchen. The silver is strong in this room, and the fridge pleads to be opened. You know that’s your secondary destination. The main prize is ahead, and I’m about to dive in.
The water is cold. A wave rushes through your body as you look out of the kitchen window. The sun is shining bright, reflecting the water drop on your lower lip. That’s where you want to be, with the others. Your tribe calls you. Be their leader. You’ll be happier out there.