Wednesday, February 3, 2016

Pressures


The house was deep in sleep when the water bottle burped. Air pressure equalized at that precise moment the cat sprung through her door and the silence was disrupted. An owl called into the darkness from the other side of the big mesquite, outside the fence. The confluence of sound woke him from a reverie of consummation that would never happen in his working life. He was unhappy about rousing like that in the middle of the night out of the only real happiness he knew. That said, being awake wasn't so bad. He saw things clearly, in simple, direct language at this time of night. He could be utterly honest with himself and mainly saw his part in his own failures. The cat jumped up on the bed and greeted him with a request for food. He heard a car go by on the road up the hill behind the house. It would be many hours until first light. His was an easy and boring life, one which, when done, would be remembered by no one. He wondered if he would ever take the chance that might send the trajectory of his days spinning off in a new direction, a billiard ball sent careening off course down a wide, green felt of possibility. 

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