I wrote this sometime in the last 3 years.
It was a stream of consciousness type of writing.
Where i just don't stop, whatever comes out comes out.
I just found it in a notebook full of scrap papers.
"Falling leaves. Old man. Good seeds. Man in the moon, woman in the sun. Little fuzzies fly in the air. Light shines in through the window pane, the click click ticking of a type writer. The feeding of the paper through the metal clasps. The man barges in and asks "Where is my rope?". He fiddles with papers books and trinkets. Below tables and in drawers. He never looks up. If he had he would have seen the rope, conveniently hanging from the ceiling for him. Light from the window making an egg silhouette. His little girl sitting on the large couch teaching herself to read. She mumbles pronunciation under her breath, brows wrinkled. Her father not noticing but scavenging for his prize. The boy with the bowl cut hair runs in and screams "who are you talking to?" Everyone gets chills but no one stops what they're doing. Mumbles and paper rattles pursue. Flies run into the window. Then light catches the chandelier and fills the damp den with fireflies. Zooming to and fro around the surface. A tune plays and everyone stops. The tune stops and everyone plays. Even the rope swings back and forth in the window, creating a grandfather clock on the opposite wall. The girl looks up and says "I've never read this much before"
"What have you read?" asks the boy.
"True subconscious" she replies as she watches her father chase firefly light around the room.
Blue eyes blink. They focus upon the scene. But all they can see are the fuzzies in the air, and all that is heard is the mumbling of Dick and Jane. And then bright light, sunlight blinds. The blue eyes run. Into the field toward the ocean, leaving the mountains, the den and the rope behind.
He sits down on the large fluffy couch. Silence picks her up and rocks her. The boy comes to get a hug. "
