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This week's words;

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Author Topic: table lamp...Object Writing...Taste, Touch, Sight, Sound, Smell and Movement  (Read 785 times)
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« on: December 19, 2008, 02:50:11 PM »

Picking the lamp up, dust drifts off the yellowed shade like fireflies into the night. It's been in the same, lonely spot on the corner of the old, well traveled, oak desk for years. Books came and went, letters were written at 4 in the morning, pens and pencils were filled and sharpened and died empty, but the lamp remained. It was the lighthouse of the office, enough light to find your way to the wobbly, cracked leather seat, to pull the small chair close,  over the pine slat floor.

The picture behind the lamp is of a young woman, a hint of a bosom showing, and a small brown cloth in her hand. the plaster wall is mint green, and feels uneven to the touch. you can hear footsteps outside the door, the echo of movement and feet rings down the hall and into the living room.

Much of the room is dim, the lamp only lights up it's corner and the ceiling above. the smell of leather and glue and years thicken the air, the coffee too hot, makes you set it down and blow across the surface of it, the heat rising up  your nose and you can taste the bean, the cream and the coffee pot that needs washed.

Shoes on the floor need picked up, the umbrella stand sits quietly next to the desk and another umbrella lays under the desk. One short tug on the lamps bell rope and more light enters the room, enough to pick up the pencil and let it dance across the envelope, leaving your name in it's wake.

Eggs and bacon call you from the kitchen, hoping for rescue from the hell they are
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