I buckle the umbrella and put it in my backpack. It’s sunny, it’s always sunny in Philadelphia, yet my instincts predict a downpour. The rays of sunlight bring out the brown in my hair. Cut down on caffeine, yet I need something pumping in my veins, so I have a decaf. I exit the shop, the little bell chimes. I try to fold the change in my hand, when a passer-by notices my laces are untied. I set aside the cup and wallet on a bench and knot my shoes tight. Picking up the decaf, I stride forward. The first sip always tastes like piss, I make a face. Got to get used to it. My eyelids feel heavy. I feel woozy. I don’t think I’m walking straight anymore. I’m about to cross the road, it looks empty, but I can hear someone honk. An ear-splitting sound, like an air horn being boisterously pressed. To my left, a red vehicle. I stumble back immediately, holding on to dear life as I almost get run over. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion. I look down, my laces are untied. I look up, the sky is musky, and the air is dry. Colour from the heavens drained like poison dissolved. The clouds soak up the aura and cover the expanse. Everything green starts to turn grey. It’s like all the light has been vacuumed out. Silence around me. I scamper on the side walk. The sound from my heels echoes the empty city walls. I reach a dead end, a red bricked wall on which is a loosely stuck sketch of a skull, made from coal. my had tries to make a reach for it; my ears are distracted by music. It’s mostly from a sound box. I enter the building on my left. I see the vinyl, it’s not turning but I can hear the music.
It’s Frank Sinatra’s Makin’ Whoopee. The music stops. The stick on the vinyl breaks. I try to find my way out, only to be greeted by Frank Sinatra’s portrait covering the entire wall. It’s made of oil paint, it starts to melt. The paint pools around my feet. I run up the creaking staircase. The door ajar, I walk in. I’m welcomed by a pristine oval mirror, sided by candle stands which are lit. The room smells of vanilla but the aura so dank. The light from both candles extinguish concurrently. The smells of vanilla fade and a wood fire odour tingles my nose. I stand upfront the mirror, yet it doesn’t have my reflection on it. I stare at it, squint hard to see myself. The mirror cracks, shards of glass on the floor. And even though I don’t touch it, I can feel the cuts on my face. I yell but there is no voice. I take two steps back, and almost trip over a plant stalk. I turn to see the corner the wall. A lengthy tapestry, gilded with grapevines. The purple grapes hang low. An open wine bottle and a half drunk goblet on the side. The intoxicating smell of wine almost hypnotises me. I feel something crawling on my leg, it’s the creeper, trying to tie itself to me, trap me. I stomp on it, and grasp on to the ghost of the ivy vines, tracing its pathway upwards. The grapes along the way look ravishing, but I focus.
An old tainted, translucent window through which light peers. I climb to the zenith of the tangled clump and try to smuggle out the window before the sprawling bunch grapples me. I don’t fit through this portal, the pane is rusted, it won’t open. I turn my back and push the heavy French window. It sways open but it looks like I have disturbed some creatures. A dozen bats ping at me, my eardrums shut off. I duck and run to the edge of the roof. My bag is empty except for that umbrella I put in last minute. I swing it in the air and whip those ugly flying menace away from me. At last, the cackling subsides. I take the courage to open my eyes. A dystopian world. I see the tops and spires of buildings dressed with fire. Smoke and cement dust wafting throughout. The clouds seem very close to my face. The atmosphere is smothering me. I can’t see the ground below me. Standing on the blue tilled roof with a high stone walls and turrets that exceed beyond the sky. Have I climbed the bean stalk Jack sowed? I feel like I’m standing on a cloud. The wind whistles in my ear, asking me to peep down. I take a step forward. Landslide. The tiles begin to move from under my feet. I feel the tilt, I can’t find momentum. The clouds meet my face. I’m plummeting, only acceleration. But I see a shadow in the midst. It has wings, it cradles me with it. Again everything slows. I feel safe, like I’m floating in the air. Lightning strikes the angel sort of a figure and slashes its wing. I am dropped, and gravity takes me in. in the nick of the moment, I open the umbrella in my hand. A parachute affect. I can feel my feet sway in the open space. The sound of thunder and accompanying it is rain drops. I can see the ground, its shattered, covered with lava. Zephyr has arrived. The gust of wind blows my umbrella. Tosses me like a paper against a wall, I hit it with a thud. It knocks me out.
A drop on my check, it’s the rain. It awakens me. I’m on the pavement. My senses still dizzy. I hear a bell chiming. My eyes focus to a coffee shop behind me. I rise to my feet. My laces are tied. The bench has my beverage and purse. I sit there with my hand massaging my temples. I take a sip from the cup. Its coffee and not decaf. My pupils dilate and turn brown.
~SVP
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