A slow beat. A smoke filled rhythm coated the room in a thick blanket of warm music.
“No more his eager call
The writings on the wall
The dreams you dreamed have all
Gone astray”
Her voice echoed throughout my bedroom, as I laid on the thin ash burnt carpet, dreaming of far off places. It was nearly dawn. The morning birds outside trying to match the beautiful melodies that I held captive in my room.
I didn’t hear the front door unlock but I heard the drunken stumbling of my mother, as she dropped her door key and she wasn’t alone.
I left the sanctuary of my bedroom and at the bottom of the stairs, two lingering fingers, hidden in almost complete darkness, lit only by the burning cigarette, ash slowly cascading onto the shag carpet. They were dancing. Dancing their dance of neck kissing and hands fumbling. My mother, and a stranger. Continue reading “All That’s Left by Michael Mann”