Revitalized Legacy pt.2

Elden slept for most of the day. When he finally sat up from bed, his shirt tore away from the bed, and stretched away from his skin, in sweat. For him, it was like a wet band aid that was stuck on for far too long, slowly being peeled from the skin. Mid-summer was unbearable for most, but for Elden it was a relief. The simple refreshing satisfactions on days of peaked heat. To experience the exhaustion and beat down of the day cooking someone alive, then a cool breeze, or a wet pull of clothes from the skin allowing a cool touch, integrates itself into life, and everything seems to be marvelous. Even if only for a few seconds. Today was one of Elden’s favored days of the week–his day off.

Elden still lived with his parents in their average suburban home. It was a two story house, fair sized yard; front and back, and everything was always clean. After changing into clothes which did not stink of a gym locker that has gone years without cleaning–rancid onions, Elden set off for a walk. The walk was not long, since Elden’s goal was the neighborhood park only blocks away. With a large book wedged under one arm and a half eaten apple in hand, Elden felt that this day was already off to a good start.

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Revitalized Legacy pt.1

A child ran across the open yard of a Victorian house. Ecstatic emotion enveloped the child’s face, running across the field, bolting by towers of bodies, nudging into a few legs along the way. One towered figure held a hand out to the child in an attempt to slow their progress. There was no slowing down for the child. The child finally reached the end of their destination–a table strewn with gifts of all shapes and sizes, colors and even textures. However, the child’s eyes rested on the pièce de résistance; the cake.

A three tiered cake, each tier separated by pillared stands. It sat alone in the middle of all the child’s other selfish pleasantries. Staring for a while, focusing only on the cake, darkness began to engulf everything else around it, allowing the only light possible to shine from the ground image of that masterpiece. The child knew that the exterior was vanilla, even the pinks and the blues giving the cake definition and design would be vanilla, but the child hoped that the interior would be a sweet strawberry. The child stood, only yards away, imagining it melt in their mouth. Taking a step toward the cake, the child felt that they were committing a wrongful act. That there was a velvet rope holding those back with temptation, and the child was crossing it without permission. There wasn’t a rope holding anyone back, but the child felt that there should. With each step closer to the cake the child’s heart pounded harder, looking back and forth among the bodies much taller than they making sure they wouldn’t be caught. The child stood just before the cake. Eying its features once again, the child noticed all the divots in the frosting made from quickened, sloppy work by the bakers, the grease that the icing secreted, and the highly detailed work with the flowers and wavy borders in multitudes of colors. The child loved it more so, for all of its beauty and imperfections.

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