Thursday, January 28, 2010

Four Alarm Fire

At the Exhibit. Hundreds of paintings, Hundreds of people, loud noises.


As I walked I saw one sitting alone, no one near. No one walking seemed to notice it, or rather cared to look at it after the first glance. I went to see it. I was a simple, strange painting.

This particular picture reached out and grabbed me, reeling me to it. I slowly came nearer, eyes fixed on it. I stood about 8 feet away from it--staring. It entranced me with a painful, longing nostalgia. Tears swelled in my eyes.

I drifted into reminiscence. It brought me back to when tommorow was uncertain everytime I suited up. To a time where, my livelihood could also have been my death. To a time where I did good, I saved. To the glory days.

Tears swelled in my eyes. I longed, I cried.

And then, regaining composure, I walked away. Forgetting the painting, just like every bypasser before me.

Trying to forget the past

3 comments:

  1. Andy,
    Your peice "Four Alarm Fire" includes some excellent diction, such as 'reeling,' 'nostalgia,' and 'entranced.'
    I also particularly enjoyed your ending, an abrupt but realistic close.
    Sincerely,
    Genevive Louise Noette

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  2. I really enjoyed reading this. It exhibited alot of feeling which i feel many people can not show in writing.

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  3. this passage was quite good. i like how you made it feel like something had happened to him but never really told if it did leaving our minds to fill in the blanks

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