The setting: A city street painted black and white with shades of grey. Silence is broken by a whistling wind and then a stray car horn early in the morning. A tangerine sun cracks the horizon with its razor-thin rays and reveals the shadowy figure of a man in a trenchcoat. His pace is heavy yet his footsteps make no sound. A stranger approaches from the opposite direction. A woman with hip-length hair blowing in front of her as she tugs the flaps of her own shorter raincoat around her frail frame. Her ebony heels echo across the pavement as she walks with an unsteady gait.
I see her in passing. Her hair whips through the air, catching my cheek. Catching and drawing my attention. The look in her eyes is electric.
My heart leaps from within my chest. And, as I turn to speak, no words come from my lips. Yet, I feel the flood of art and poetry springing from my mind.
Soon, the air is filled with white sheets of paper. They swarm the ground and slap me in the face as the wind tosses them around like the ebb and flow of the sea. Like a tornado. Along with the wind, they play with my thoughts and catch her attention.
She turns, while raking the hair from her porcelain face, and giggles uneasily as she grabs one of the pages to look at it. She can't quite figure it out as she looks up at me. Pausing as her eyes mingle with my own. The sun graces her frame and puts a sparkle in one corner of her right eye. There are brief moments when I can hear no sound, at all.
A dance begins to unfold as we both grab sheets from the air, reach for a pen in our breast pocket and exchange notes one after the other. We keep this game going for a little while, and it makes us both smile.
Then, suddenly, another stranger appears. I notice him looking on before she turns to face him. He is dressed the same as me(though his hair is pale and sculpted into a flame atop his head), and his presence fills my nostrils with sulfur.
In no time at all, a flow of pages begins to spring from his backside and swirl in her direction as he points at her. She takes a few steps toward him with curiosity just before the tidal wave of paper turns into a twister whipping around her. It gives her a slight fright and chills as the base of her coat is lifted into the air with her skirt. She shrieks briefly and then giggles like Marilyn Monroe.
If not for the sun distorting the monochrome setting, I'd be seeing red. I feel torn and distracted. My focus suddenly taken from me. My eyes begin playing tricks, and I repeatedly blink to keep them from going dry. Even though streams of tears are escaping their ducts, spilling into the swirling winds, as I blink.
Now, I see two men. Both dressed in long coats. However, this new figure looks very tall and dark. Square, metal clasps flash in the sun. His shaded face reveals a pair of striking eyes which draw her in like hypnosis. I see her stumble in his direction. This darker figure does not seem in the same "league" as the other guy and I. He does not spew pages.
But, I've spoken too soon. A few colorful sheets do appear from the folds of his coat as he opens his arms to welcome her. They turn into birds which chirp and flutter past the sides of her face before bursting into tatters like fireworks. As she locks her hands in a prayerful knot beside her right cheek with a cheerful giggle, he reveals a red paper heart with rough edges which floats from his chest to her lips. She shyly pokes her nose forward and kisses it.
A fire begins to burn in my eyes and my chest. And, my mouth feels terribly dry. I feel as if my skin is about to burn away as lava stems through my veins.
The first man I saw responds with a "Hey!", taking the word from my lips. He and the tall, dark figure face each other like a pair of gunslingers in a western. They grab the sides of their coats and prepare to flip them. Soon, a battle of wits unfolds as pages spring forth and take shape to wage a creative(yet destructive) battle.
Meanwhile, other men begin to appear. I swear I hear her utter an "Oh, my!" as they turn the scene into some episode of "The Bachelorette"(or maybe a strip club for women). Each and every man expresses his sudden interest in poetry, picture and song with pages flying in all directions.
It isn't long before I can no longer see or hear my own words, my own thoughts. The air is too thick and crowded with every other man's aggressive strategem. I cannot breathe nor can I compete. I manage to see at least one of the men get hit in the face and another shrug before turning to depart the scene. And, despite my desire to pursue her, I see no alternative--lest I suffocate and die on the street--other than to do the same. So, I turn my face from the storm of paper and flock of trenchcoat birds and walk til I can once again hear my own thoughts. I look back at the vision surrounded by salivating prospects and can't help but wonder.
And, while I wonder, the scene vanishes before my eyes. Once more, I am standing alone on the monochrome street with miles of sidewalk for me to pace and just a memory of what was to fill my head with pages of words and images.
--brainstormer
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