Abstract Imagination

(Published: 2018/09/19)

Minds as fresh as crisp new notebooks piled upon my desk.

The voices of school-girls buzz,

And the clatter of pens echo.

There’s a quiet rhythm as my watch ticks on, marking every cherished second I spend here.

I listen to the satisfying sound of my pencil,

Its lead scraping across the page with every word.

My ears explode as the fragments of rock collide with a bang.

I hold my breath as the ocean floods me.

I find my feet as new rock rises from beneath me.

I flick on a flashlight as I find myself in a cave,

The first.

I grip my flashlight and imagine it a fountain pen, ready to be dipped in black ink.

I clench a golden pocket-watch in my palm.

I then stare out a window to witness 16th century France.

There I sit, stroking the golden ball-gown as it glistened and glowed on my waist.

I turn the page in an old diary.

I sign my name.

My long hair is bundled up in a tight swirl and I wear a thick white suit.

Upon my head sits a bulky helmet. Beneath my feet lies dust.

I bounce my way over craters and under boulders, big and small alike.

The further I travel, the thirstier I become.

I imagine a flag and plant it in the swirling, red sand.

I watch as a creature stumbles across the rocky plain.

Its silky silver skin is coated in a thick layer of clear liquid.

Nearby lies a small green pod in which it fell from the sky.

I stumble to the pod and imagine

a wrench, twisting it, pulling at wires, punching at big red buttons.

The creature comes running back.

Exploding Nebulas swamp the starry sky.

Planets turn to dust before my very eyes.

I turn my back to the screams of every being in the universe, but still witness fiery comets falling from the sky.

It is all happening so fast.

Only blackness. That’s all there is.

I hurriedly imagine my pencil, leaving it all behind.

I gaze down at my notebook.

My pencil, blunt.

My fingernails blackened.

My notebook, no longer new.

My mind, as fresh as crisp new notebooks piled upon my desk.