First draft - assignment 1.7

Här skulle vi försöka med sinnena beskriva en "thrilling or anguishing event from your childhood or adolescence". Njut av första utkastet och kommentera!

A sudden rush of blood colors my face crimson red. I’m the red traffic light in the middle of the rush hour, steadily shining for everybody to stop and notice. The sleeping beast inside me wakes up, stretches and yawns greedily at the familiar feeling. It seems it is thinking “Long time, no see”. The wandering of my eyes seems hazy and confused. As in one of those daytime TV-shows, the edges of my reality are blurred. A sparkling spider web of mist hangs before me like the dusty curtains of my grandmother’s windows. I try to let my eyelids wash the web away, but no matter what I do it remains, grey and twinkling as if decorated by soft summer rain. I see the people talking around me, their mouths are moving silently, like sand flying through the desert. What I hear is only the roaring of the beast inside me, pounding my heart steadily as if using it as a typewriter, directly connected to my brain. The beast spells out “Danger danger!” and I know what the danger is. The beast growls, it’s hungry and I have no choice but to feed it.

The air suddenly fills with a scent, a thick creamy scent that lingers through the room like smoke. I draw my breath and realize that I’ve been holding it. I get up from my seat, following the scent so familiar to me. My feet are floating but heavy. The narrow stairs in front of me look steeper than ever. My hands grasp for control and slides around the banisters. My fingertips feel every inch of the dark brown polished wood. My mouth is dry but wet at the same time, I’m not sure if I’m able to produce sound, less yet speech. The scent intensifies, mixing with the smell of freshly made coffee. Up here, I can hear the ocean splashing against the rocks outside. A seagull cries out in and the beast inside of me responds with the same agonizing sound. The spider web turns golden from the beaming light that shines through the open door in front of me. The scent is concentrated now; I can’t smell the coffee anymore. The mixture of the saltiness of the sea, masculinity, salt sweat and sugar fills my senses. My heavy floating feet stops me just outside the open door, where I find the source of the scent. A knitted white sweater with ugly black dots, way too big, jeans and a messy rug of long brown hair down a skinny back. A dry nasty cracker filled with something white, even nastier, is offered to me. I don’t really want it, but the beast forces my hand to take it. The saliva vanishes from my mouth like when you pull the plug in your kitchen sink. The cracker grows in my mouth like sawdust made wet. I feel sick.

The knitted white sweater with ugly black dots grabs my hand. The sweater’s hand makes me feel like I put my hand on an iron. A dead jellyfish feeling runs through mine. The beast inside me laughs and types with its claws, my heart bleeds from the wounds it makes. The chill moist air from the sea hits me, my hair blows all over the place, but I can’t feel a thing. It seems my senses have all concentrated to my hand. I can feel the heat, taste the skin, the scent, I hear the pounding beat from the beast, all this through my hand. Two pale blue ellipses pierce through the spider web and suddenly everything becomes painfully clear. The TV-show edges vanish, my vision is now clearer than it ever was. It’s as if I’m standing in a Kodak moment, already developed and framed. Two knitted white sleeves with ugly black dots move slowly towards me and the beast. It roars with pleasure and anxiety as the thick creamy scent devours my entire being. Our lips meet. My senses are filled and destroyed.