The warmth of the blankets would not be enough. Time encroached and security eluded him. The day clunked toward him with unevenness. No real dangers, no real dreams, only a stream of minor decisions and minor consequences; hardly a siren's call.Reluctantly he acknowledged himself, connecting his unsatisfied mind to his increasingly unhungry body. The creep of the mundane almost lurched as he forced himself upright. The rush of blood to the head pushed a swirling reminder that he was entangled with biology, not pure mind. He was a part of the realm of stuff, and not feeling very patriotic about it. And so, the day began.
What was wrong? No tribe.
image: http://mattiasa.deviantart.com/art/moleskine-35923344
3 comments:
Brilliant.
the prose and imagery reminds me of Calvin Miller's Singer/Song/Finale trilogy. you should consider a Telos allegory! seriously.
Chris.
read the forward about the author's experience of before and after writing: http://tinyurl.com/6rscu4
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