Kragen
Smash Ace
It’s foggy, cold and I am outside. Calling.
“Hello, happy new….”
“Wait, wait…Dammit, you spoiled…”
And she hangs up.
I sigh, looking at my cellphone, a brick in size. My very first intention of the new year: buy a new one!
I look up and around. Dense fog is surrounding me, ever closer, reducing sight to about a hundred feet. Well, not very far, at least.
I makes me feel alone. I breathe out, a cloud of condensed air escaping, joining the mist. At a distance I would look like a smoker. The thought drops in my mind, like a stone in water. No parachute. Just boom. I don’t think very often outside “me”, when I see myself as just somebody, but not myself. It’s pretty creepy. I don’t even know the back of my neck.
Wait, wait…Always waiting. Outside, in the cold and the fog. No one is outside, not even those cats from our neighbours’ neighbours. It makes me feel alone. I breathe out some more, but in such a succesion that you would never think that I am smoking.
Two mittens cover my eyes. They are blocked, dark blue and not-so-dark, but also not-so-light blue, with a bunny on the left one. Or the right. I know. I bought them. She’s the same person as the last one I dialled.
“Hello.”
“Well hello, surprised?”
She jumps up and down in front of my eyes. I smile.
“Of course. That’s why I called you.”
She shows a fake sad face, pouting.
“That was stupid. I was almost there. I bet I would have frightened you, if you hadn’t.”
“Oh, I would be petrified…”
“Oh, hahaha.”
She laughs ironically. This whole conversation takes place when we walk back to the house. Mine, semi-detached, where my parents are watching Hootenanny.
“You know, we can’t light it down here…”
“What?”
“Because of the fog. The city council has stated that you can’t light any rockets, it would be too dangerous.”
“Like somebody’s going to care.”
“Well, no. But you wouldn’t see them, anyway.”
“Hmm, that’s right. Well, what do we do?”
“Wait here.”
It wouldn’t be a long wait, I walk into the garage and take it out.
“Where are we going?”
“To the moor. It’s up the hill, and there’s no mist. I checked earlier this evening.”
I walk inside once more and take out the rocket. We decided to buy one which is totally great, instead of a dozen measly ones. I put it into the cycle-sack and jump onto the saddle.
“Coming?”
“Don’t we need champagne? I mean, come on…”
I respond by hopping off and walking back to the front door, but she stops me, with a sly smile.
She takes two small bottles of champagne from her pocket. But she doesn’t have any glasses with her, they might break.
I tell her to wait, again, and collect two plastic champagne glasses from the kitchen-cupboard. I show them with a grin , and she smiles back. They are perfect.
She hops on the back. Hopping equals happiness, and we are pretty merry, considering the amount of laughter we are making. Another no-parachute-drop thought. I like them. I never thought of them until I had the time to do so, probably when I was waiting in this mist.
On the moor you had a great view on the city, as it pierces a hole through the fog and reveals what’s underneath. Behind the almost-full rising moon you could see the skyline of the town we happen to live in.
“Hey, look what I found.”
It was an ancient Action Man with a cotton parachute. It has the intention to be thrown up, and then it would fly, no: glide, across the skylandscape, carried by wind.
“Wow, where did you get that from?”
“From the bag on my bike. I got it years ago, from my parents on my birthday. It was summer, so I was out all day, throwing this thing up and seeing it fly above the city.”
She doesn’t reply, but only looks at it, with a weird impression on her face. She is probably thinking about something she got from her birthday, ages ago, and how she had played and had fun with, for a long time. It would probably be unfindable. Who knows.
I look into my pockets, but found nothing. I ask her for it, and she took the band that holds her hair in a tail, freeing it. To say the least, it made her…stunning. She is beautiful without it, and with it, of course, but without it the beauty of her hair was emphasized.
“I need to clean up the garage, anyway. That would be my second intention for next year.”
“Hmm, why? What’s your first intention, then?”
She smiles for my first one, and totally agrees on it. A little amazed she was, for my reason.
“Only because of that?”
“Probably.”
The puppet is now bound on the rocket and the fuse isn’t lit yet.
“Got a light?”
“Normally I do, but now I don’t.”
“Why, do you smoke?”
I reply with a simple “No”, and look once again in the bag. With another smile I take out a little matchbox, containing three matches.
“Good thing I didn’t start cleaning up untill next year.”
“Ha, yeah. Pretty weird it’s next year in…fifteen minutes.”
With a moderate distance from the lit fuse we fill the champagne glasses, with enough left for two other ones. Perfect.
As we clank, the rocket spat apart, forming the shape of a flower. Its’ green and white colors luminated the packed fog above the city.
“Going to wish me happy new year?”
Her lips, subtly covered with gloss, breathed no clouds of air out. In fact, none of us were wearing gloves, she had removed her mittens, but her left hand was as warm as mine was.
We kissed.
Above us, smal cinders are falling down, from the ropes that hold the doll, ignited by the flower-rocket, a daisy, or a forget me not.
They glow in the furthermore dark night, not extinguished by the cold and moist mist, but glowing in it, as little fairy elves, or a covered light.
Soon all ropes will be burned through, and Action Man would fall.
No parachute.
--------------------------
Lyrics
Coldplay, Parachutes
“Hello, happy new….”
“Wait, wait…Dammit, you spoiled…”
And she hangs up.
I sigh, looking at my cellphone, a brick in size. My very first intention of the new year: buy a new one!
I look up and around. Dense fog is surrounding me, ever closer, reducing sight to about a hundred feet. Well, not very far, at least.
I makes me feel alone. I breathe out, a cloud of condensed air escaping, joining the mist. At a distance I would look like a smoker. The thought drops in my mind, like a stone in water. No parachute. Just boom. I don’t think very often outside “me”, when I see myself as just somebody, but not myself. It’s pretty creepy. I don’t even know the back of my neck.
Wait, wait…Always waiting. Outside, in the cold and the fog. No one is outside, not even those cats from our neighbours’ neighbours. It makes me feel alone. I breathe out some more, but in such a succesion that you would never think that I am smoking.
Two mittens cover my eyes. They are blocked, dark blue and not-so-dark, but also not-so-light blue, with a bunny on the left one. Or the right. I know. I bought them. She’s the same person as the last one I dialled.
“Hello.”
“Well hello, surprised?”
She jumps up and down in front of my eyes. I smile.
“Of course. That’s why I called you.”
She shows a fake sad face, pouting.
“That was stupid. I was almost there. I bet I would have frightened you, if you hadn’t.”
“Oh, I would be petrified…”
“Oh, hahaha.”
She laughs ironically. This whole conversation takes place when we walk back to the house. Mine, semi-detached, where my parents are watching Hootenanny.
“You know, we can’t light it down here…”
“What?”
“Because of the fog. The city council has stated that you can’t light any rockets, it would be too dangerous.”
“Like somebody’s going to care.”
“Well, no. But you wouldn’t see them, anyway.”
“Hmm, that’s right. Well, what do we do?”
“Wait here.”
It wouldn’t be a long wait, I walk into the garage and take it out.
“Where are we going?”
“To the moor. It’s up the hill, and there’s no mist. I checked earlier this evening.”
I walk inside once more and take out the rocket. We decided to buy one which is totally great, instead of a dozen measly ones. I put it into the cycle-sack and jump onto the saddle.
“Coming?”
“Don’t we need champagne? I mean, come on…”
I respond by hopping off and walking back to the front door, but she stops me, with a sly smile.
She takes two small bottles of champagne from her pocket. But she doesn’t have any glasses with her, they might break.
I tell her to wait, again, and collect two plastic champagne glasses from the kitchen-cupboard. I show them with a grin , and she smiles back. They are perfect.
She hops on the back. Hopping equals happiness, and we are pretty merry, considering the amount of laughter we are making. Another no-parachute-drop thought. I like them. I never thought of them until I had the time to do so, probably when I was waiting in this mist.
On the moor you had a great view on the city, as it pierces a hole through the fog and reveals what’s underneath. Behind the almost-full rising moon you could see the skyline of the town we happen to live in.
“Hey, look what I found.”
It was an ancient Action Man with a cotton parachute. It has the intention to be thrown up, and then it would fly, no: glide, across the skylandscape, carried by wind.
“Wow, where did you get that from?”
“From the bag on my bike. I got it years ago, from my parents on my birthday. It was summer, so I was out all day, throwing this thing up and seeing it fly above the city.”
She doesn’t reply, but only looks at it, with a weird impression on her face. She is probably thinking about something she got from her birthday, ages ago, and how she had played and had fun with, for a long time. It would probably be unfindable. Who knows.
I look into my pockets, but found nothing. I ask her for it, and she took the band that holds her hair in a tail, freeing it. To say the least, it made her…stunning. She is beautiful without it, and with it, of course, but without it the beauty of her hair was emphasized.
“I need to clean up the garage, anyway. That would be my second intention for next year.”
“Hmm, why? What’s your first intention, then?”
She smiles for my first one, and totally agrees on it. A little amazed she was, for my reason.
“Only because of that?”
“Probably.”
The puppet is now bound on the rocket and the fuse isn’t lit yet.
“Got a light?”
“Normally I do, but now I don’t.”
“Why, do you smoke?”
I reply with a simple “No”, and look once again in the bag. With another smile I take out a little matchbox, containing three matches.
“Good thing I didn’t start cleaning up untill next year.”
“Ha, yeah. Pretty weird it’s next year in…fifteen minutes.”
With a moderate distance from the lit fuse we fill the champagne glasses, with enough left for two other ones. Perfect.
As we clank, the rocket spat apart, forming the shape of a flower. Its’ green and white colors luminated the packed fog above the city.
“Going to wish me happy new year?”
Her lips, subtly covered with gloss, breathed no clouds of air out. In fact, none of us were wearing gloves, she had removed her mittens, but her left hand was as warm as mine was.
We kissed.
Above us, smal cinders are falling down, from the ropes that hold the doll, ignited by the flower-rocket, a daisy, or a forget me not.
They glow in the furthermore dark night, not extinguished by the cold and moist mist, but glowing in it, as little fairy elves, or a covered light.
Soon all ropes will be burned through, and Action Man would fall.
No parachute.
--------------------------
Lyrics
Coldplay, Parachutes
