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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4153 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Sean’s Habits Carin He peels grapes idly with his teeth, because his hands control the tide of turning pages. Modern masters captivate his mind, his body is inert in his La-Z-Boy except for the working of his jawbone; and like a dead man, only for a moment, he seems to hover outside of himself. Tartness touches his tongue, his teeth close in for the kill, and his throat seals the fate of the grapes’ pre-wine liquid. He never regards the bunch on the plate teetering precariously on the recliner’s arm, half fruit, half stems; nor does he remark the piles of skins quickly becoming replacements for rapidly disappearing flesh. The soft marbles roll one by one perfectly in his balanced mouth in between his razor-edged teeth; but his mind contemplates only the philosophies of Irving and Rand. Peeling grapes with his teeth (green grapes work best) is therapy for a bitter world view, one trying to suffocate his innocence; but he defies it in one single act, one bite at a time. Like balancing a bead on the blade of a knife his attention wavers, then fails and he slips back into the restless ocean of chapters and paragraphs. The plate lies forgotten, a shipwreck on a beach; and only the skin and bones of the bodies are left forlornly stowed away. He looks up to the stars for direction, he looks down to the book for some insight, and he smiles in the face of a bitter world ready to take it on one bite at a time. |
