Man's best friend

The man sat there idly being swung gracefully back and forth on the swing, as its will dictated in its battle with nature. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. As he was being swung he saw the world anew, marbled by an emerging, bubbling well of tears, a first within the repertoire of experiences he could remember. He was swinging back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, a moving dot in the expansive field which once upon a time in his adult life seemed much smaller to him. He felt overwhelmingly dwarfed in a place where children play. He envisioned a giant child watching him as he continued meaninglessly oscillating like a pendulum against time.

A moving dot. No a small, solitary, static, sterile speck as seen from the clouds above. The world he knew was being recast in this moment, an unfamiliar, foreign world was tearing at the fabric and invading the territory of comfort. Incommensurable terror overwhelmed him as he struggled with the conscious thought that this was a world he would have to try to come to know.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, there was nothing in the air except the motions of the swing and the man’s stifled breath of catatonic realisation. He slowed down the swing’s sway at a comfortable pace in order to catch up with the hollowing silence and face its unravelling truth. He sat there engaged in languorous slow swings, the kind which preceded the end of the piercing fun when you were a child, when the excitement of screaming to the high heavens whilst in motion was burst by the adult telling you that time was up, it was time to go home. He swung in this manner, the slow preamble swings before the end, indeterminably, until a jubilant dog came scampering its way towards the sand which encased the feet which only moments ago were in live although limp motion. The dog curiously sniffed away at the contents of the sand grave. Its torso immediately jerked spasmodically and it flailed wildly in a manner facing the opposite direction, as if its aversion conveyed a great sense of disdain.

The dog after a few seconds slowly and cautiously turned around and then even more carefully slowly raised its petite, innocent head bravely, his minute features trying to disguise but not completely obliterating his sense of lament as its beady, curious eyes awaited and pleaded for a response from the man. Time seemed to stand still at the man’s refusal to respond. The dog’s eyes which were filled with regrettable sorrow now took on a veneer of condescending judgement as unctuous as the denial of what was being sought. The dog finally softened its gaze, nuzzled its face and concentrated its gaze on the man’s feet again, and after a second whiff scampered off into the distance never to be seen again.

Man's best friend


Joined January 2008

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Artwork Comments

  • Michelle Boyer
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