Story from 130806

writing story

published 1970-01-01 00:00

updated 1970-01-01 00:00

%date 130806 00:00

Waking up to the sound of beating drums isn't exactly what you'd call a lazy afternoon. However it wasn't an aggressive beating, more like a melodious clap. I knew what the sound was. I could identify it even through the thick fog that clouded my brain. And even though I heard it with the much smaller drums, though size has no bearing on importance, that vibrated on occasion or need, it was my faded, pale lips which reacted. It was my face that swayed ever so softly, as if the wind grew bored, and found me to play with. In the moments between being fully awake, and half asleep, there is a magical lull in the air, and every so often, for the shortest, almost imperceivable amount of time, the impossible becomes reality.