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Fruit of Eden
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The Moon was half-hiding behind the stars, but it was bright enough to light up the field. She wasn’t moving, just standing breathless, frozen for a few moments. A little white flower shone in her hair, and the rest of her face turned to the darkness.
“Did I wake you up?”
There was no reply, but the question was answered. She wasn’t ready to talk to him, but there was nothing to wait for. She kept her secret for twenty years, now was the time to reveal it. The dragon just lied there, cuddled up like a puppy. He covered his face with a claw and the mouth looked almost like he was smiling. You could hear and see the breath leaving his body like an old geyser taking a break from spitting water, then the giant’s body filled up again with the air whistling through his nose.
The night had a rythm like a blues song, and slowly it reached the turnaround. She moved closer.
She was just standing breathless, frozen. Not a word more was spoken.
I have a clearer picture from the words (not even 1000…) than the image.
The lock and safety pin are too tangible in this image for me.
If I said that the stalk on the left should come into the frame lower down, and be rotated counter clockwise by 10-15 degrees, would you take me seriously?
All the best
C
He pulled the door, one last time, the metal echoed off the walls.
He’d left behind the view to the east, the gridded tarmac apron around the pyramid, the far distant half built towers, the heavy sky. Now he would venture into it.
His helmet and small bag of clothes tangled his arms, the lift dinged, a last glance at the biro’d graffito, and the dimpled steel box took him down to the Honda. No more casual offers of flatscreen TV’s from the scangers who roamed the corridors, robbing Peter, and selling to Paul. Metaphor for the hocked land he was leaving.Everything was ready. He’d picked up the gauntlet, and now he hooked it on.
The lid scraped his cheeks. He reached and thumbed the button, and the twin shook alive. One last lap, and he angled the ramp, towards the light.Soon, he’d stand on the blunt deck, and and watch the island fold between the snot green and the slate grey.
At the pointy end, Eden awaited.Sorry Zoltan, didn’t get a photogram together, you’ll have to make up your own-
Go n-éirí an bóthar leat, or as we say in Ireland, bon voyage…Send us a postcard…
Best of luck-
j
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