Thursday, October 06, 2005

Fool's gold



Act 1
I was mesmerized, staring at the golden rays that emanated out of it. It took me a moment to realize what it was because it was the last thing I had expected to find. Could it be I wondered, that I’had finally struck gold? It lay there in the sun blinking shards of brilliance at me so blindingly bright that for all of me I couldn’t turn away. I prodded it gently with my toe just to let it know I was there and it smiled back, letting me know it had noticed me too. The Crane’s dance had began. And so we danced, I would marvel at it’s beauty, and it, in that knowingly way would radiate it’s approval showering me with golden rays of radiance. I could see my mirrored compliments on it’s smooth shiny surfaces, both infinite and exquisite . Oh yes we danced, avoiding the obvious but both knowing it nonetheless. I suddenly caught my breath and stopped in mid step, what was I doing? There was obviously only one way to tell if this was indeed real gold. I had to feel it, touch it, examine it. And so I did curling my fingers around it’s smooth edges and feeling it’s cool composure send shivers deep into my nerves. This was it, it had to be! Only real gold could make someone feel this way. I didn’t question why a valuable piece of gold was laying unclaimed in the middle of this cold land. It didn’t for a second occur to me that this piece of gold could be flawed or worse, a fake. All I knew was that, Ill-Fortura, the godess of making many bad things happen in a row had long made sport of my life. She was due to go out to lunch any time now – and this was as good a time as any. I stumbled about in a drunken stupor, dreaming of all the wonderful things this piece of gold was going to get me. Suddenly the future seemed bright and limitless, and to think it had just been laying there unclaimed, waiting for me. Oh what fortune!



Act 12
It had been days since I last touched it. I had fallen into a habit of peeking in my secret closet every once in a while to make sure it was still there. It was still there. But I had started to notice that each time I checked on it, it sparkled a little less. Deep inside I knew it was my fault because every time I would see it, I would push it deeper into the dark confines of the closet and not let enough light shine on it. Of course every once in a while I’d pull it out and lay it on the kitchen table, and marvel at it’s beauty for when the light would hit it just right, it had a special way of saying “hi” that would set my entrails aglow. I failed to realize that it was only light that it lacked and the brilliance that had once captivated me so hadn’t changed. It was just harder to see. The darker it got, the angrier it made me. What the hell was I doing? Had I become the proverbial fool who fell for the false gold? I didn’t want to be that fool, I had heard all the stories and that definitely wouldn’t be me. I was too smart to be duped by falsehoods and false glitter, wasn’t I? Wasn’t I? So the day came when it didn’t shine anymore and I could no longer see my reflection cast in it’s metallic helm. That was the day I let it go, put it on the the bridge and let it roll down to the edge on it’s volition. I didn’t reach out my hand to stop it even though I knew in a moment it would soon plunge back into the murky depths of the unknown from whence it came. I stood there and watched it as if daring it to roll back to me if it did indeed belong to me. No sweet goodbye, no I’ll miss you, no hug, no kiss. Just the empty splash that would tell me I would never see it again. Never find out for sure if it was the real thing. All it had needed was a little light and maybe it would have made all my exotic and erotic dreams come true. All it had needed was a little more time on the kitchen table every now and then. All it had needed was for someone to let it shine and it would have let him shine too. Alas, it was gone now. I guess Ill-Fortura doesn’t take lunch breaks. As it tumbled in the air I caught my reflection, it appeared I was crying.

13 comments:

Nakeel said...

Dont cry..
Great pics u gat here bratha...
Was carried by your piece reminds me of school when the teacher used to subject me for script writing i wish u were near me i could have convinced you to do the assigment for me..
Nice one...

Anonymous said...

kijana, you can definately write. that was a good piece. Hope you find you glod back

Stunuh Jay said...

Wow...that was really lovely.... May your abysmal fount of creativity keep on keepin' on...

Uaridi said...

All that glitters !!! Pole my son. I just love your writing style - a novel in the making, so I shall not moralise.

Sandman said...

@Poi - it's great how you read all that because that's exactly how I'd intended it to be. Poetry was actually my first love and I've had some of it published - maybe that's why I love reading your posts.

@nakeel - I suspect it wouldn't have taken you much to convince me. thanks.

@stunuh - "abysmal fount of creativity" wow, what can I say after praise like that. you're not so bad yourself.

@Aunty - thank you, lakini si you know I need you for moments like these.

Spidey/Tato said...

you do know u are my enemy but i will say it for the last time you really write really well.(almost chockin in disbelief)...think publishing think copyrighting...think i'd like to dedicate this book to nick!

Anonymous said...

This is a great story, sandman and extremely well written. As I have said before, you are incredibly talented.

Please write more

Sandman said...

@Poi - you know all the right words. I'll put one up for you.

@couch 'tato aka nick - thank you very much. that was very big of you, I never thought I'd see the day (shaking head in disbelief)

@aunty Mshairi - I'm big on procastination but I'm trying to change.

Prousette said...

Lovely story once again, well written but I have a bad feeling you were not talking about gold as in the precious metal.... just me and my weird imagination.

Sandman said...

@prousette - now why would you say a thing like that, lol!

Prousette said...

Just reading between the lines.
Sometimes the essence of the story is in what is left unsaid. My lit professor would be so proud of me now *smile*

gishungwa said...

i also feel like prousette that the stroy is symbolic. Maybe iam reading too much into it. I get the message that its about first impressions and expectations then when those expectations are not met we lose hope and write it off. Then later wonder that if we had given half a chance would things have been different?than again that is just my 2 cents.
your writing is great you have the gift of words, the ability to paint and evoke emotion with the words. will keep coming for more.

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