The Concrete that Moved

The decanter made of crude etched glass, and the ceramic old man with a beard, were relics from my grandparents’ home. My wife, Lynda, found no place for them, in her plush residence, and had discarded those pieces in junk. I was no longer the rustic lad that I used to be. She had married a bureaucrat, who imposed rules and regulations in his territory. She never had the opportunity to meet my grandparents’ either. So, how could I expect anything different?

Yet, I wanted to create a space for these items, maybe in the study, where I spent several hours in solitude. The creation of compartments, to accommodate me as a whole, was not easy. It sliced me into several pieces, and I could not recognize my splintered self, but Lynda had never sensed my discomfort. How I wished, boundaries were flexible, and we could move the concrete to suit our needs!

The next morning saw an old lady in my office, who wanted the thick wall surrounding the old age home, to be replaced with a wire fence, so that the inmates could stay in touch with the world outside. Regressive move, but I had signed the orders….

Inspired by Sunday Photo Fiction – February 5th

Sunday Photo Fiction – February 5th 2017