A DIWO STORY BY DIWO'IST COLLABORATORS. Please take turns in adding text and/or images relating to the story below...
>>>>>>>>>>>it begins>>>>>> Sarah steps out of the bath and pans the top half of her torso in the mirror. Through the steam she can just make out the ghostly outline of her reflection. Her finger inscribes an outline of herself onto the mirror's surface. Condensation drips down and it looks as though she is melting. She turns around and examines her profile, moving her hands from the cool surface of the mirror to the moist warmth of her skin. The self wrapped in skin is alive. The self inscribed on the mirror's surface is... Well, it too is alive in some way. Memories come flooding back to a time when she was a young child, walking in a fog in the streets of London. It was winter and she was on her way home from school. Her feet trod on a thick yet slippery snow. She wished that she had worn her boots, as frozen bits of the icy stuff dribbled into her shoes and slowly melted into her stockings. Her feet felt like they had become part of the snowy surface that she trod upon. She remembered how tragically uncomfortable she felt as she looked forward to arriving home to her mother's embrace. She could hardly make out where to go, it was early evening in November and dark. The fog was getting thicker as each second passed by. People wandered to and fro, bumping and slipping into each other, looking like discordant lost souls. Vehicles slowly chugged along, releasing gaseous, warm fumes out of their exhausts. Lights from the vehicles, buildings and lampposts, shimmered, shrouded by the blanketing haze of freezing fog. The child stopped walking in the midst of rush time chaos for a moment, shivering she then held her hand out as far as she could reach... ...her arm it disappeared. At first she was frightened as images of decapitation immediately plagued her active imagination. Then she looked around - as other people began to appear out of the fog, they seemed to be much more clearer now, whilst still being caught up in the hustle and bustle. Each step had to be measured or she would slip or fall over. Her legs finally led her to a nearby bus stop and there were also many people standing around and shivering holding their frames tight, breathing fog out of their own mouths into the larger dense fog. A bus pulled up along-side the curb, the crowd including Sarah boarded the large red vehicle. Once seated, she made patterns in the condensation of the window's surface. It dripped and shook to the quivering rhythm of the bus. She could just make out her reflection, the outside world and herself fused, they were one. It was a memory that had been haunting her of late, but was yet to figure why. She shook it off, and with it the last vestiges of sleep. Outside it was early morning, birds twittering, a dustbin lorry reversing down the side alley, beeping and announcing it's action. Fragments of the bin men's conversation drifted up, audible but without definition amongst the clattering of the machinery and bins, dampened by the morning mist. _______________________________________________ NetBehaviour mailing list NetBehaviour@netbehaviour.org http://www.netbehaviour.org/mailman/listinfo/netbehaviour
