Moments in the Light [Glimpse]
Oct 23, 2020 15:17:02 GMT -8
Krakenbox, Kai Rose, and 1 more like this
Post by Riley Sorsa on Oct 23, 2020 15:17:02 GMT -8
Two strangers sat across from one another at a small table outside a cafe, cups of coffee cradled in hand. Their eyes were the same.
"You’re coming to my show this weekend, right?" he asked, raising an eyebrow across the table at the woman there. She couldn’t help but chuckle and roll her eyes.
"You know most people would find it weird to ask their sister to their burlesque show."
"I am not most people," Riley said with a chuckle, leaning back.
Same as always, a practiced social routine between the two siblings. There was comfort in that.
Claire stirred another sugar into her coffee before prodding deeper. "What's the new routine about?"
Claire always sought meaning in Riley's works. At times it annoyed him; he also appreciated that Claire saw the art in the work.
"I don't know; tits are weird?"
The array of lights were dazzling and blinding. An unending assault of heat and color that bathed the stage, nowhere to hide. Yet despite the fact that she knew they were out there, their eyes, their desires, their thoughts, expectations, she could not see them from the all-consuming light. She was alone, and exposed, just her, the pole, the blurring music, and the light. Freedom at the expense of service, service to find freedom. She shined, shined bright, but not bright enough.
She stepped through the jangling curtain of beads into the back room, pulling the hair tie tucked on her wrist over the wad of cash and bundling it.
“You’re up, Tif,” Riley said, jerking her thumb towards the bar and stage that thrummed beyond the curtain. “Knock ‘em out for me.”
Tif smiled giving, Riley an elbow bump in passing. Riley moved across the dressing room folding the money, slapping it into her bag as the locker groaned open. Her silver jeweled glove glinted as it pried the leather jacket from its perch, fishing out the E-cigaret. With a click, the light came on.
The ceiling fan whirled weakly above, its rhythmic clicking a steady hypnosis. Riley laid on the couch of their apartment, legs up awkwardly over the arm and back of the couch. No lights on, the black out curtains drawn tightly, letting only a little of the midday light creep through, a slim reminder of the avoidable heat of this city. It would be perfect darkness if not for the ambient glow that radiated from their chest.
It pulsed in time to the fan, an attempt at a harmony, each one sending a cool blue light pooling over the living room. That glow kept Riley awake, unable to find solace in the darkness, to slip away into slumber. They could wear a mask, block themself out, but somehow that was cheating. Instead Riley found other tools. Their hand traced the crystal lip of their now waterlogged whisky glass, raising it to their lip for a soft taste of its warming spice. They needed to sleep, the show was tonight, six hours before light tests and preparation. Perhaps more importantly they needed sleep to dream, to cocoon, gestate and become. But the song of the light’s siren whisper was too much.
Riley sat up, running their hand through the shock of silver hair and delicately played past their antenna. With a frustrated groan they tapped at the smartphone that was never far away. A few rings echoed in the still apartment.
“Hey, you busy? Wanna grab lunch?” Riley asked, rubbing their eyes.
The voice on the other side, distant and muted, responded.
“Great, see you in a half hour.” An hour. “It's on me today okay, Claire? Good...thanks”
They shut the phone off and set it on the glass top of the table, and downed the last of the water whisky. In minutes they stood at the door of their apartment, dressed to kill like always. Riley’s bejeweled glove hesitated over the handle.
Darkness was safe.
They twisted the door before the thought could fester and the radiant light of the midday sun blinded them in its embrace.
Written while listening to Black Sheep by Metric.
"You’re coming to my show this weekend, right?" he asked, raising an eyebrow across the table at the woman there. She couldn’t help but chuckle and roll her eyes.
"You know most people would find it weird to ask their sister to their burlesque show."
"I am not most people," Riley said with a chuckle, leaning back.
Same as always, a practiced social routine between the two siblings. There was comfort in that.
Claire stirred another sugar into her coffee before prodding deeper. "What's the new routine about?"
Claire always sought meaning in Riley's works. At times it annoyed him; he also appreciated that Claire saw the art in the work.
"I don't know; tits are weird?"
The array of lights were dazzling and blinding. An unending assault of heat and color that bathed the stage, nowhere to hide. Yet despite the fact that she knew they were out there, their eyes, their desires, their thoughts, expectations, she could not see them from the all-consuming light. She was alone, and exposed, just her, the pole, the blurring music, and the light. Freedom at the expense of service, service to find freedom. She shined, shined bright, but not bright enough.
She stepped through the jangling curtain of beads into the back room, pulling the hair tie tucked on her wrist over the wad of cash and bundling it.
“You’re up, Tif,” Riley said, jerking her thumb towards the bar and stage that thrummed beyond the curtain. “Knock ‘em out for me.”
Tif smiled giving, Riley an elbow bump in passing. Riley moved across the dressing room folding the money, slapping it into her bag as the locker groaned open. Her silver jeweled glove glinted as it pried the leather jacket from its perch, fishing out the E-cigaret. With a click, the light came on.
The ceiling fan whirled weakly above, its rhythmic clicking a steady hypnosis. Riley laid on the couch of their apartment, legs up awkwardly over the arm and back of the couch. No lights on, the black out curtains drawn tightly, letting only a little of the midday light creep through, a slim reminder of the avoidable heat of this city. It would be perfect darkness if not for the ambient glow that radiated from their chest.
It pulsed in time to the fan, an attempt at a harmony, each one sending a cool blue light pooling over the living room. That glow kept Riley awake, unable to find solace in the darkness, to slip away into slumber. They could wear a mask, block themself out, but somehow that was cheating. Instead Riley found other tools. Their hand traced the crystal lip of their now waterlogged whisky glass, raising it to their lip for a soft taste of its warming spice. They needed to sleep, the show was tonight, six hours before light tests and preparation. Perhaps more importantly they needed sleep to dream, to cocoon, gestate and become. But the song of the light’s siren whisper was too much.
Riley sat up, running their hand through the shock of silver hair and delicately played past their antenna. With a frustrated groan they tapped at the smartphone that was never far away. A few rings echoed in the still apartment.
“Hey, you busy? Wanna grab lunch?” Riley asked, rubbing their eyes.
The voice on the other side, distant and muted, responded.
“Great, see you in a half hour.” An hour. “It's on me today okay, Claire? Good...thanks”
They shut the phone off and set it on the glass top of the table, and downed the last of the water whisky. In minutes they stood at the door of their apartment, dressed to kill like always. Riley’s bejeweled glove hesitated over the handle.
Darkness was safe.
They twisted the door before the thought could fester and the radiant light of the midday sun blinded them in its embrace.
Written while listening to Black Sheep by Metric.