I had a nice surprise two days ago.
I discovered that the First Cut magazine had published one of my short stories. (ukelele dance) I could barely remember what I submitted to them, never mind when.
I looked back on the records that I kept.
One must try to be organised about these things.
*coughs*
13th of July 2011.
Wow.
Just under 5 months.
I could have won the lotto, be run over by a car. Actually I did. But that's another story.
No big deal. I am still here.
Anyway I am pleased and I am sharing it with you.
The colour of mind
It is one of those slow motion moments. His silky gray suit ripples through his athletic body. His jacket cut his slim shoulders to perfection.
Tall and trim, with long gray hair lend him the look of a distinguished bank manager. When he crosses the street, he moves with such natural grace that three women look at him bewitched; So deeply hypnotised that they froze.
He gives them a glance aware of their intense gaze on him and the corner of his lips thins out.
Still unable to move, the three women located at three different points of the street, follow his trajectory.
He doesn’t walk. He sways; with lust and nonchalance like a tango dancer. They are now officially staring.
He arrives safely on the other side of the street.
To those three, he is sophistication made man. His expressive face gleams with intelligence and his well-cut suit shows how successful he is.
But if they could read his thoughts the same way they could read a weather report, they would know a huge storm was on its way. It is coming over him as clearly as the rain falls over the city and there would be no escaping it.
He looks at them. They are fine ladies. He can categorise them and even read their mind. That's what he's good at.
Always been good at.
Of course that's not his specialty. His specialty is to read the minds of business men. He can sail upon their minds and predict any turns, any twists, any directions they'll take. But the mind of his parents that’s a different cruise. A bruise cruise.
He has come to accept who he is.
No therapy, no religion, no exorcism will change how he feels now.
However, that doesn’t stop the queasiness. With an apprehensive hand, he adjusts his silver-framed glasses.
He takes a deep breath and with an abruptness that startles the nearby pedestrians, his flat-heeled shoes stomp loudly on the pavement. He suddenly looks at the three women and under their scrutiny, he pops a mint into his mouth and snaps his jaws shut like a shark. He snorts.
They blink, waking up from a dream. He can see the disappointment is clearly visible on their face.
He knows.
The product isn’t as good as it looks, they think. Yes, and they are right.
He’s on for a show. He knows he must carry this dark attitude on the outside, but inside, there is a light which can’t be brought to the surface.
That light has given him the ability to read minds and it's also his curse. Between darkness and lightness, he would choose gayness.
If he could choose, that is.
But gayness is not a suit you can wear in financial circles.
So he wears gray instead.
The colour of his mind. The colour of his suit.
