07-26-2014, 10:38 AM
Continued from Ciudad de Pestilence.
The rest of the day, Dane watched the sun glow bright through windows and felt the air grow warm. Soon the light dipped behind the building and his view was cast in shadows. Finally, the light was gone altogether and yet he continued to sit in the same place, curled over a table, obsessively concentrating on slivers of paper sprawled out before him.
At some point in the day he'd rid himself of his fine clothes and worked in not but boxers and an undershirt. His hair was scruffy from countlessly scratching his hands across his scalp. By the time the sun dawned once more, stubble prickled his neck and jaw. The delicate muscles in his hands ached and his fingertips were stained with calligraphy ink.
Yet when he finally sat up to examine his work, he was satisfied. A thousand cards were stacked before him. Each one was adorned with perfect replications of a mockingbird posed on a branch. They were all done in black and white, but the hand-drawn miniature pieces of art were as beautiful as any he had painted before. Their song filled his mind as he stretched just as real birds chirped in the trees outside his window.
He showered and dressed in a daze of sleeplessness that could not be resolved his cards were strewn across Mexico City like money tossed from the mountaintops.
The rest of the day, Dane watched the sun glow bright through windows and felt the air grow warm. Soon the light dipped behind the building and his view was cast in shadows. Finally, the light was gone altogether and yet he continued to sit in the same place, curled over a table, obsessively concentrating on slivers of paper sprawled out before him.
At some point in the day he'd rid himself of his fine clothes and worked in not but boxers and an undershirt. His hair was scruffy from countlessly scratching his hands across his scalp. By the time the sun dawned once more, stubble prickled his neck and jaw. The delicate muscles in his hands ached and his fingertips were stained with calligraphy ink.
Yet when he finally sat up to examine his work, he was satisfied. A thousand cards were stacked before him. Each one was adorned with perfect replications of a mockingbird posed on a branch. They were all done in black and white, but the hand-drawn miniature pieces of art were as beautiful as any he had painted before. Their song filled his mind as he stretched just as real birds chirped in the trees outside his window.
He showered and dressed in a daze of sleeplessness that could not be resolved his cards were strewn across Mexico City like money tossed from the mountaintops.