Hiatus

It seems that I need to re-evaluate (oh, and so soon!) my methods in creating a narrative. What this means for the moment, is a hiatus in my writing. I'll post again when I take action.

Wandering, 1:3

Scare me into...
I'm not paranoid; I just hear too much
Don't tell me what to do.

Time, time keeps going, ticking, ticking
Kicking in my head
Stop, stop your ceaseless laughing, laughing at me.

Mind, mind! losing my mind, losing, losing
Losing all my sense.
Stop, stop invading, filling, filling me with nonsense.

Who's there?

Light scattered and played tricks on him. He imagined that the icicles were playing tricks on him. He composed a story:

"Once upon a time, and a very good time it was, an icicle fell from the edge of the roof and shattered upon the ground. Each shard stood up, and began waving at the others. A man walks by, ignoring the shards. He thinks to himself about what his mother had once told him. Never speak to strangers that are waving at you. You never know what they could be up to. And especially ice shards: they're the most unpredictable.

"And so the man keeps walking, while the shards keep waving. He imagines all sorts of mischief the shards could be up to. For all he knows, they could be plotting to assassinate a world leader. That'd be frightening.

"The man makes it home, and turns on the television. He watches his favorite program, As the Days Go By. His enjoyment however is interrupted by a knock at his door. He goes to open it, and greets the crow standing outside.

"--How can I help you?

"--As you may already know, several world leaders were assassinated just moments ago by a band of ice shards. After turning themselves in, they pointed us to you as the mastermind of the entire operation.

"--Oh. Well that's quite unfortunate. I suppose I'll have to follow you then.

"--Yes. The Agency is quite through with the ice shards; we need someone else to question."

He laughed at the silliness of his own story. He looked up at the icicles on the roof edge trembling, almost waving, in the breathing wind. He smiled.

Wandering, 1:2

Shadows on the wall in a cave:
Primal urges that I get when I see your shape in
Shadows on the wall in a cave from
Candles that can't illuminate your face

All I can do is look for you
As I make up you
Cause you're not here, you're just
Up here in Shadows.

The chill stole up from behind him, not unexpected but unwelcome. He nearly shivered as he felt his seat, cold, his feet, cold, his legs and arms and face, cold. He blew into his hands to warm them. He shivered. He was cold and cold was he.

But as cold as he was, he could wait. That was what he had learned in boot camp. That was the only way he had survived: patience. He was glad to be back from Iraq, and since he had come back he hadn't needed to worry about much. Things had been good since his return.

He thought.

The sun was up, and shining. Icicles hanging from the roof shattered the light as it streamed down. Ah the colors. The colors were bright and blinding and surprising. A world of white, colored by the sun, a new world, never before illuminated thus. With the icicles laughing in the sun. Threatening to drop as they dripped.