This was his oasis.
He wrapped his hands around the coffee cup pausing just a moment to watch the liquid roll around like a calming ocean of black. He brought it to his lips, the heat teasing, the aroma sensual and provoking. Heels clicked by the basement flat, shattering the moment, making him look up to view ankles and untidy shoes through the kitchen window almost in zoetrope because of the iron railings to the outside world. He sighed, grinding his teeth to steady his emotion, closing his eyes to distance himself.
He drifted in erratic thought catching now and then in the back of his mind until he settled. He needed to slow down, take a step back, clear his mind from the rush, breathe and enjoy the coffee.
Somewhere a phone blistered the peace drilling through the silence gnawing at him like the devil at his sleeve. He counted down from one hundred building a wall brick by brick.
He thought about the colour of the seventies when life just hung around waiting to be lived, when time seemed to relax and it was forever summer. Oh, he knew the decade had corners, hell, he’d visited a few but he found some semblance of happiness then, a freedom that he could never touch again.
Maybe that was where he had grown into himself, became who he really is, the person behind the crack of the mirror.
He lifted the coffee to his lips. He needed these moments or else he would go crazy in a mad world. He smiled looking around at the disarray of the kitchen, the broken cups, the blood on the door panel, the body on the floor.
This was his oasis.
Copyright ©RMC September 2018
Mistyroads 