Of a Late July Night
Overhead, the stars hung in clusters so dense that whole new layers of the tiny pricks of light emerged the longer Gloria stared. Examining a particularly thick population, which may or may not have been the Milky Way, she decided the view would have been described as beautiful by the typical person. To her however, the stars only reminded her of a face with terrible acne, although not necessarily devoid of a certain beauty. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, feeling the not too unpleasant scrape of roof shingles against her cool skin. With her legs pulled to her chest, Gloria absently kissed her knees, which were much colder than her lips. Pricks of stubble from two weeks' growth poked her mouth and she let her tongue slide briefly over the small area against which she was pressed. Her knees tasted of sun lotion and smelled of coconut. Below her, the swimming pool was still in the absence of wind. She looked down to see if the stars were reflected in the water, but they weren't. In fact, there was nothing in the pool at all besides the quite chlorinated water. Maybe she wouldn't do it after all. It was late, well into the technical part of morning and it would be very easy to just fo
She drew a few gratuitous spirals and paused again before writing something clearly and neatly across the white page. What was compelling her to remain out there? She dropped her right hand from around her legs and reached for the square pad of paper which lay near her bare feet. The child-safety lock had been expertly removed. When she had it, she held her breath, without meaning to, and held it to the flame. She shook the pen a few times and scribbled at the top corner of the pad of paper until a trail of ink flowed forth. Gloria fingered the papers to find the first one. The melting ink and ashen pieces fell softly to the water where the flame drowned. As long as she was here and not tired, she may as well do it. She sniffed and stood, staring at the sinking black fragments. Nonetheless, there is something to be said for artistic spontaneity. Faced with a virgin piece of paper Gloria only hesitated briefly, then wrote down six words, all in upper case. Order didn't really matter, but if any of this mattered anyway perhaps order was also somehow important. She grabbed the paper and the pen wedged between two shingles and adjusted her weight as if to stand up, paused, and slumped back into her original position. She ripped that piece off as well and placed with the first under her foot.
Common topics in this essay:
Night Overhead,
paper gloria,
pad paper,
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