The Reality Enthusiasts | Prologue
They were finally able to do it, and they were almost late. One decided, and conscious enough despite the adrenaline, to grab any number of foldable outdoor chairs, as much as he could carry, and enough to drop one or two without it being a detrimental loss. Another, his hand attached to his scalp in order to protect the placement of his hat, was furthest down the hill, making excited, wide-legged strides in loose and comfortable clothing, like the rest of them. Another fumbled a tripod and a sturdy but antique camera. Whether it was summer weather or not, the inner happiness felt by them was akin to this season, prompting them to wear some arrangement of cargo shorts, shoes for relaxing and colorful buttoned shirts, sunglasses optional. They were running out into an empty field, and despite the distances between them, caused by the impromptu luggage each carried or abandoned, they were perfectly in tune; their age in their minds disappearing the most it had done so in these occasions. There was still a little time when they arrived at what seemed to be “the right spot.” (And this was achieved by a few steps here, a few steps in this direction or that by them in a small diameter before they settled down, or accepted the inevitable margin or error.) There was still time for the one with the camera to hurriedly take shots of their arrival, the other two having just dropped into their chairs to pose for the picture as soon as the chairs were unfolded and placed. The adrenaline of all three tied them together in a frantic rhythm. The man with the camera left it behind on the tripod, after setting it to continue taking pictures automatically, and he stumbled down the bit of slope to his chair.
After a Loud Night
A mistake made, a secret lesson
learned. A pale, green slope.
It is a dense forest, the decision
offered, to choose to be what one
What are these things that
enjoy the rotten, and wait until
the remnants are scattered to
live, and investigate with utmost
curiosity, the curious eye, the
I dig into the earth, and emerge
with nothing new.
My footsteps are as miniscule as
the sounds of the birds, the only
sounds imaginable. My footsteps
have a solitary echo.
The mistaken sound of hoofs, the
tension of leaning toward a
familiar face, the stoic voices
in the trees…
The new, cold nature, hiding
the things I can’t see. Its unimaginable
voices interrupt my attention to
announce their presence, asking
me to look for another way round.
Aaron Vigil is a graduate from Florida State University, with a bachelor’s degree in English and Creative Writing. After spending time studying Creative Writing at Adelphi University in Long Island, New York, Aaron lived in Fremont, California, then taught English as a Foreign Language in Prague, Czech Republic. He is currently preparing to continue teaching English as a Foreign Language in Pamplona, Spain.
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