13cotj a sister reared in her spatial bubble miniaturising her material world

7/29/2019 13COTJ a Sister Reared in Her Spatial Bubble Miniaturising Her Material World

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The walls of the room seems to hold theirbreath standing upright and blank. The unnecessarydcor is a recipe that goes with the mere few piecesof utility furniture. Rooms with a source of functionalliving that voices hollow-out and echo our parents'concerted efforts to the well being of their largefamily.

We, a fivesome siblings, with an apparent age group that extended a class roomdominance. We entered weekends in the shadow of our ghosting teachers. Gradually, the school

break raised in each of us a sense of boredom linked to a lack of parental attention. In oursurrealistic spatial bubble suite, we gathered and frothed in a soap solution. On the edge ofreality, and for no apparent reason to us, giddy and frothing mischief. We drew a giant foamalong in our game stunning the sentinel of doorways along the way. While chasing each other,

Illustration, blister of a bubble:

Metaphysic, dissolve matter, and one is left with theome of an atmospheric blister and the cup rooted inthe earth a whole bubble in its own immaterial

dimension a case of a little girl fledging her psychewingtips at the touch of miniaturizing the physical

town.

FledgingFledging

one'sone's

psychicsychic

wingswingspanpan


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the echoes of our wild activity rose wave rings dancing jingle bells like a light glow from theglaze of the wooden parquet. Without relenting our screams, amidst our voices chanting in fear;"Let's stroll through the woods, for as long that the wolf isn't there. Wolf, wolf, where are you?"the blank walls by surprised of our exultation through the narrow space, leaned over and bucklein dismay. Blank walls with a goggle stared at the liberty we took and the livelihood we broughtin the house, where otherwise reigned a stern fatherly atmosphere.

First where our eldest sisters to stormed out the rear door, and paying no heed to thethreshold rolling out a red-oxide and polished bullnose to a shallow riser. A down step fromwhere spreads the polished surface to a neat cut off rectangular and elevated rear porch. ourtwo sisters went on hugging each a brick pillar that corners the architectural jetty high above thebackyard void. I stormed into the under cover bright creeping daylight, paying no attention to abird's-eye view over the natural degraded ancient lava flow. Deviated sight from our sister'staken position. We all ignored by routine of sight the giant paw of nature that left a black craggyquarry of shard rock, where no vegetation dare adventure their roots, apart the golden featheryphantoms of tall tuft grass in the sun.

On the right of the doorjamb, shadowed an operator's diverted attention with an emptywater bucket draping over the brim a floor rag, along a floor squeegee with a stick leaning up

against the wall.Wise to our games, in turn, we had rushed avoiding being whipped off our feet by the

last splashed that washed the floor. Dirgni was pausing by her pillar, and I found my spot on theopposite side a steps down. I stuck my back up the wall underneath the high windowsill. One ofthe pair of recessed windows across the rear wall, was overseeing some ten wide cascadingred steps.

When a metaphoric mood allures to matter the nature in a resolution of dualitythat evokes a morality of the moment that part from which dreams have their make-up here, the last polish step evoked an assurance of a well being expression, whilefrightful and creepy, timid the girdle of cropped lawn edged-up, peering from around thecorner of the house. Lawns that crawled a living pelt along the ledge leveling over the

lava quarry, and stuck close to the rear and elevated walls of the house. An underlyingmood, to which as children, we grew careless and indifferent by habit, except the cadetof us siblings who were taken up in our game.I glanced over

my shoulder, countingon Rogi who hadn'tappeared yet frominside the house.When Esli appearedin a waxing brightdaylight, while withmy eldest sisters, weheld our wildest run

on guard. Against all expectancy of the moment, in disbelieve frozen from our game. Anexpression ran amongst us, as we watched helplessly at what each one of us went through atone time or another in our young lives.

We were stunned, and with a rising culpability watched in slow motion the unbelievable

Illustration:

the one bubble in cohesion sums up a frothing

connections of multiple bubbles.


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scene of a rehearsing movie take. Our little sister, Esli showed up with an immaturity at playingsmart construction site games. In another movie take, the cheap red-oxide floor shone aghosting polish that was so common that it covered the school building floors. In another movietake, while we were in dismay, we couldn't warn her about the water splash that attenuated thelight glow on the floor, which each of us had missed by justice. On another movie take, her feetwere whipped from under her figure and by some imaginary bobsleigh, she slipped a tortoise

ride on her back, arms and legs wild in the air to catch a grip. Instead, her figure acceleratedstraight across the floor. She broke through the specter of a security hand-railing between thebrick pillars that our eldest sisters hugged at the edge of the open jetty that hadn't risen concernamongst our father, nor mother.

As sudden our little sister had appeared from the dark doorway, in bright daylight shevanished from sight. No sooner the Pitchy Boy emerged from the shade that the house wallscast in the vicinity of the moping utensils. While, in us awoke a thunderstorm ofincomprehensible wits, watching the Pitchy Boy's tragic and silent white eyeballs.

In uncoordinated moments, our mother's ghosts figured by the doorjamb. Herexpression rhymed words so often repeated when we were sick; "Ho! Do not worry, everythingwill be alright!"

At these moments, when our mother struggled at dealing with that child that the adultstended to circumvent within them, echoing in mind a husband's attitude; A man daren't show hiswife emotions , which our mother dismissed from interpreting for herself.

In a spell of energetic movements, mechanical, and without voicing a question, thePitchy Boy shadowed in bright sunlight moving around the bottom of the staircase. He blendedinto the shadow cast by the retaining wall of the elevated porch, to lie still swallowing the figureof our sister. The pitch Boy rose a short moment later, in the genie of muscular arms trackedback. His shadow moved over the polished cascade flight of stairs. At the top past us by, underour awesome gaze, to vanish into the darkness of the doorway.

The doorway ghosting our father returning in the aftermath to the spot, from where hetraced by sight to comprehension Though, it was in our parents mockery that lies the

resolution of the duality. The hospital next door, they claimed a whole unit of emergencyservices coming to the rescue of a large family prone to accidents.

As siblings, we were left in aftermath confusion, until our little sister who returned homeand the dressing came off after a few days, showed the scar and the points numbering herstitches across her forehead. Scars, we cared to remember our mutilated bodies, but theemblem inflicted by the razor shard of the lava rocks.

A rainy season left the way fro an emerging dry period coinciding with a new schoolyear. On that first day, my brother Rogi and me, we were filled with pride emerging from thefront door of our house. On the front lawn, we sought position, fetching our little sister's hands.On either side of her, endeavored with her under the specter umbrella of our spatial andreflective arc of parallax, and headed toward the desert park lanes that passed by the house.Our set of leather soles crushed the white grit, with stride adapted to our little sister. crossedover by the contour of the whitewashed boulders enclosure to the bloom a bull's-head oftropical colors curbing the continuity of the median run. We reached the opposite whitewashedcurbs, stepped over the boulders and turned left to follow the cropped grass of the sidewalk. Bynow the crescent mountain bulge under a night cloak silhouettes the cut out white sky, with adistinct sealed dimple. the crater of an extinct purlieu volcano and crown to a sun-dial duringthis period of Grandfather Clocks, from which our home was deprived. a morning sun raypierced the night reigning atmosphere, and set our bionic clock on time for school. A yellow raythat amplified its diversity to a beam as we walked along wayside closely knitted needle bushesshowing impatient for a sun's brush stroke.

Up till recent, we seldom played with our little sister separated by what as childrenappeared a generation gap. While, Madame Six, and her little girl Betty became a householdname. Our Fat Granny attracted a spell of curiosity, until one day on my way back from school,with mischief circulating through my veins, I inadvertently dropped by.


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On Madame Six's property, inside a granny apartment, our Fat Granny was comfortablein a wide puffed up granny chair. A short distance from her feet, I lay sight on the two little blondheads in the same age group seated in a wooden playpen. An image branded to mind, which intime made sense, by the living ego of our Fat Granny surrogate mother, while sharing her dutiesas babysitter.

Like smoke in the distance, the signs were there, and called for a squint in the direction

of the populated villas across the median. Recognizing the third driveway from home next to thelast house looming behind a wild grown hedge that draws the street block to an end. Thedriveway flit away in the shadow, hollowing out a nightly atmosphere at the side of the house. Astraight outreaching to a glazed cul-de-sac at the rear of the property that outlined the garagedoor of an outbuilding converted into a granny apartment.

The driveway had another meaning it was bound to be the ring-lip of a blister afloat onwater a supernatural protection blister zoning the extent that our little sister had moved up totill then. On that first school day, our little sister infringed her security zone her life within thatsoap-bubble which knows no matter, but blisters the surface of the generation that is ours toexpend. That day she broadened the circle over the suburb and scope of her autonomy. Withevery steps toward school, frothing by proximity with the bubbles that secured my brother and

me, and together provided against spatial evil that relay of an inadvertent withdrawal of theparental umbrella1.

Abreast the trio of us, we approached the thick foliage that swells out from the middle ofthe traffic circle. While, through the rugged bush on our right, the sun strokes glittered fragmentthat made up the terrace roof and the blank flank wall of the maternity school built in the outerquarter of the traffic circle.

My childish curiosity was amused by discovery, and first in our uneventful routine, or soit seemed. Our shortcut to school ran in diagonal across the drop-off black sand surfaced apronthat was like an extension of the cul-de-sac curtains with a checkered pattern of glass panes toa block of two classrooms.

In a virtually nonexistent traffic, wasn't it that we came across elementary school

teachers at every break. On the apron in front of the maternity school, two agitated mothers.Each defending their car's right of motion, provoked an unusual activity on to the wide spaciousand dormant parking lot. They brought the phantom of a white policeman step out his unmarkedcar that just pulled up. Hefty and in a turquoise uniform, as never seen before, he crossed overto the open car door in strides bearing an attitude of owning the town. He took a seat behind thewheel of the woman's car that was slotted between two others. The total of cars regrouped onthe spot. While, the hefty policeman with a leg out the car door, shifted the gear lever throughneutral. His expression gauging up, whether engaged in reverse gear at the moment that thecars, in a conversation pit, clawed each other.

My brother and me grew weary, and left the figures, while the policeman roamed bendlow and round and about the women's cars seeking for damages. Indifferent to the trivial issue,we compare the buckled metal of damaged vehicles, we were bound to come across whendriven through the legs of elephants2.

That day on our little sister's first day to attend maternity school, we failed ourbrotherhood nave as a growing town and with time is slow motion. A moment to sense ourcourage melting in the yellow morning sunlight. Behind our little sister, two intimidating andadjacent doorways, invited us across the threshold plausible with its filtering sunlight. Thebackground call attention, with a flashing glazing off the curtain wall, and insisting. But, wedaren't venture into the stern atmosphere of teachers and abandoned our privilege, by letting goof our sister's hands with a gradual head turn.

In the distance the white grit lanes with its blooming purple jingle bells on stalks through

1 Also the parachute canopy, evoked different effects as the "arc of parallax" that crown and part of the bubblereflecting the circle of earth through its rotation and moments in orbit.

2 We were the customary visitors to the panel beating workshop where vehicles were towed from mishaps on thesurrounding jungle roads.


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the median parterre between jacaranda trees turned up in our line of sight across the emergingmaternity ground apron. With the familiarity in sight, we took our fist steps, glancing back at oursister taking distance. She vanished and moments later we meet up with schoolmates, to beguided by the curb of whitewashed boulders into a more certain future. We followed a sidewalkrutted trail through the tuft sunlight ghosting feathery and hip tall grass. Appeared through thewayside bushes the bright flickering fragments. soon the white shards turned out a fully fledged

flank wall along the driveway that lead us to the inner court yard. Around the corner, the lowbuilding spread each of a row of class rooms that conform to grading our years of elementaryschool attendance.

13cotj a sister reared in her spatial bubble miniaturising her material world

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