He froze, spoon in mid flight between the bowl and his mouth, and listened as hard as he could. Then suddenly he felt the boards underneath his feet start to bend, like there was something extremely heavy standing next to him. The hairs on the back of his neck began to collapse one by one and the attention to whatever made that noise fell to the background of his mind. The silence was slowly drowning in the sound of chewing and swallowing. In some way the cheesy goodness derailed his otherwise hyper focused attention to the thing that was out there in the shadows of the old house one bite, then another, quickly overlapping the first, never allowing for an empty mouth, or a quiet moment. The thought took hold of him, breathing for him, seeing for him, living for him. He thought about eating but knew that something or someone had caused that creaking noise and was probably still there. The hair on the back of his neck had refused to lie down and so did his appetite. Then what seemed like minutes later he glanced back down, gazing into the bowl. He considered for a moment looking underneath the table but an imagination as great as his was, especially at this moment, would not let him. He looked around slowly, hoping and not hoping to see but couldn’t tell where the sound had come from. “Behind? Above? Underneath?” He thought to himself.
Candelair for mac full#
The silence gave way to a sound like two wooden ships crashing into each other at full speed atop a tranquil sea. It was just one of those things you are born with, he thought to himself, uncomfortably. How he would ever know what that sounded like was baffling to him. It sounded to him like he was mixing a bowl full of intestines, organs and blood. He began to jab at the lump of food, mixing, uncovering, swirling, and swishing spoonfuls around and around to let out the heat. He looked down into the yellow pile of lazy pasta, hamburger meat, and Tabasco sauce, suddenly forgetting all about the dolphins and the cold wooden floor beneath him. He imagined himself on the deck of a ship when he first sat down, overlooking the open sea, watching the dolphins playfully hurl themselves out of the ocean into the air, as if to experience for just a moment what we experience for an entire lifetime. His toes were planted on the hardwood floor, feeling every scratch and every dent. And amidst the fallout sat Jake, slightly hunched over a steaming bowl of macaroni and cheese.
But the remaining bulbs lived on, creating a visual controversy of light and shadow, an unresolved argument of dimensions.
One bulb had expired, dead in its socket, slightly darkened by the remnants of a once luminary miracle that was now just dead science. An old brass colored chandelier with exposed wires loomed just above the small boy’s head.
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