The door was locked. Morpheus knew it was locked because Alyxa had said she would lock it on her way ‘out’. He had watched her apply her face powders and tints with expert touch in front of the hall mirror. Was this part of the process of going ‘out’? Or merely something that Alyxa did? He hovered in front of the mirror. What did she see? The blue-black hair – more blue than black – the viridian eyes that in her dreams Alyxa had told him reminded her of the feeling of the first vodka shot of the night. He had not entirely understood, Réveille limited certain experiences. He looked at what he was wearing, ideas borrowed from a young man’s dreams that Alyxa had said was appropriate. The ‘jeans’ were interesting. Enough of this.
He walked through the door.
Night air burn through his lungs. It is cold, he thinks. A woman walking a dog glances up at him, eyes curios, she looks away and keeps walking. What does she see? Morpheus shrugs his shoulders against the leather jacket. Did it matter? He can sense Alyxa somewhere far to his left, a distant glimmer of fleeting fun. He turns in the other direction and walks, one foot in front of the other. His shoes make different sounds on the concrete. Morpheus pauses and looks down at his feet, tapping a toe against the sidewalk. Tap. He walks to the small stretch of grass that covers the lawn in front of Alyxa’s house. He steps onto the green. Different sound. Different feeling. Interesting. He kneels, touches the turf. Soft. This must be soft? Moist. There were words, but without Alyxa’s mind to guide him he did not know them.
He kept the thoughts in his mind and went back to the walking.
No comments:
Post a Comment