Five minute free write - attic

Richard stood on the second floor landing, looking up at the ceiling.

Above him, the hook to the attic, something scratched into the memories of his youth. A place he was never allowed to go...only his parents...and, in particular, his father. Sunday after Sunday he saw his dad head up there in the late afternoons, off on some unknown mission. Hours would pass with only the sound of muffled thumps and dull scratches from above where he sat listening on the landing.

Clad in his Sunday best, it was time to finally pull the blanket off the mystery that had run it's course through his youth, through his life, up until now. The unknown had lost it's point. The man who perpetuated it now gone.

With a twist and pull the stairs came down with an almost agonized scream. There regular user off on an adventure all get to take at some point in their life.

The space itself wasn't too noteworthy.

Windows on 2 sides, covered by dusty curtiains, the whole place seemed to rest in a desaturated blue, waiting for the life of some kind of light.

Boxes lay strewn about, not messy, but not ordered either. Some were open, most closed. In the corner farthest from him he saw one whose top flaps had worn off long ago. From where he stood nothing was visible, but the gravity from what sat below the edges drew him forward, towards it.

---

Memories from our youth are so important.

That time, where everything seemed mysterious, where the world was full of the unknown, where the simplest of routines inspired uncountable stories...sometimes I wonder what changes in our brains to take away that energy that sought the most creative in the most mundane of things. It was so easy back then. The lack of experience, wisdom, knowledge...it made life so interesting. Even if we didn't know it at the time.

That's not to say that life doesn't get more interesting the more you know and understand, but how you view the whole set changes.

The low angles, the hero shots, that were natural from our perspective then, now take a lot of effort. With practice, much easier, but the miracle of mundane into magnificent becomes less and less of a natural thing. It becomes a learned skills, easy for some, hard for most.

I chose this prompt this morning because when I saw the word, attic, it sparked in my mind these coming of age scene. Where a person, on the day of the death of their parent, finally decides to throw some light on a story from their childhood and pull the curtain back, look at the wizard, and hopefully gain some insight by that action. The death was a bit vague, 'clad in his Sunday's best' was supposed to be a hint...but with only five minutes I kinda glazed over it and hoped for the bet.

I hope you enjoyed this quick piece of writing and random thoughts. Got lots to do on this lovely Saturday, including doing putting more words on a page for others to enjoy :)
Michael

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