Sensory Detail. . . 

to drop in these points: 

9.35 "it felt like yogurt"

9.40 "it was blue and orange"

9.45 "there was broken teeth crunch"

9.50 "the smell of a old dishcloth"

9.55 "a taste of bananas and diesel"

I was always a quite person, I never liked to stand out in a crowd. You could bet I was the person at the back of a photograph, always stood alone, end of the que, last to be invited out, you get my point. I sort of got used to it to be honest. I never felt alone, forever enjoying my own company, My favourite place of all time is a small wooden bench perched on top of a farmers hill, ever since I was a little boy I remember traveling in anticipation, not wanting to wait for the beautiful views which lay ahead. While sat there I was king. Sat on my royal thrown, in some ways it felt like yogurt, the way the moment always left me feeling so calm and soothed. No matter how hard life becomes I would visit this same spot. My first love, my first heartbreak, the death of my grandmother, my job demotion, the death of my mum, all the time this quieter little place helped ground me and see that my problems weren’t so big. If a house could be the size of a speck, I was merely an ant gazing out into the vast world, having absolutely no understanding, but I was ok with that.

One time in particular I remember staring at the horizon, it was blue and orange, and the colours majestically merged together dancing n the sunrise, making way for a glorious day. I swear I have never felt so alive, such a vast feeling that right in the moment I was infinite, never ending, that I actually meant something. In those moments I had a place.

Today was a day like any other, waking up in my weathered bungalow, the smell of lavender and poporiee wafted into my nose. I slowly sat p in bed, eyes still closed reaching out for my vintage glasses feeling the familiar woodwork. Placing my weathered wrinkled feet on the floor there was a broken teeth crunch. Sharp pain traveled through my nervous system, reaching my brain in an instant. I let out a howl grasping my foot. The room was dark, the only light seen was visible from underneath my bedroom door. Eyes squinting, struggling to see I felt my foot, blood trickling down my hand and landed on the ancient floorboards, under inspection I saw a broken nail imbedded. The smell of dirty dishcloth triggered me to grab it and quickly release the rusted nail from the centre of my foot. I placed the cloth over my wound, determined to carry on as normal with my day, I knew the house was falling to pieces, a broken nail was the last of my worries. The laying of the floorboards shifted creating lumps and bumps incredibly hard to navigate especially when movement is not as easy as it once used to be. The front door was constantly slamming against the hinges smelling of banana and desial a mix of strange aromas shifting around this dilapidated building. The bathroom ceiling constantly leaked, damp filled the air, which later turned to mold, reaching out to as many untouched areas as possible. Here I did not feel free. This is no home.

I have nobody to share my life with. Determined to stay positive after living a good life something must happen to change this situation. My belly turned growling in disapproval knowing no food awaiting e in the kitchen except dry cereal. With the dishcloth I bound a bandage, finding my balance, grasping desperately for my walking stick. Painfully hobbling to my feet I adjusted my flannel pajamas into a forward position, somehow they always twisted as if even they couldn’t stand to be near such a frail being.

Wandering to the dresser I reached to the light, it flickered and surely enough the light illuminated this damp dungen of a room. Sat in my chair staring into the mirror I inspected the deep crevasses clinging to my face, I tried to remember when I grew so old, how these lines appealed, how my hair began to thin. Lost in my reflection I noticed beyond my garden, my hill, my little bench and I no longer felt so pathetic, so useless, such a waste.

.....