Stream of Consciousness

The leaf swirled nonchalantly past the bank of the river. Once in a while, it would get caught in an eddy and just spin for a while, unchecked. The sun showed its face every now and then between the lazy clouds. A larger object bumped the leaf. It continued downriver with the current before an undertow snatched it under the surface.

Surface…

Hungry eyes followed the Nissan Skyline screaming down the surface of the pavement. The race had begun. Gasoline coursed through the lines like hot blood in the athlete’s body. The sidewalks blurred and the Skyline became a platinum streak to the onlookers’ vision. Suddenly, a child toddled onto the street. Brakes screeched and the Skyline swerved to miss the child. It spun out of control, hit the sidewalk and flipped in the air. It lay on the ground, wheels spinning meaninglessly. The child approached the Skyline and turned off the switch. He picked it up and kept walking.

Walking…

I guess you really couldn’t call it walking; it was more like a body extension-pushup-situp. The inchworm strained to reach the top of the leaf, but the wind picked up it that moment and whipped through the blades of grass. The worm curled up, and was abruptly rolled off the leaf and tossed on the ground. After a moment, when the wind was quiet again, the inchworm stretched and tried to climb once more.

Stretched…

His body was stretched to its limit…to the breaking point. Still he would not talk. His interrogator was losing his patience. The knife slid from a practical sheath, without decorations or other such frivolities. Torchlight flickered on is deadly, well-used edge. A shadow moved in the corner. The interrogator never made a sound. His blade clattered harmlessly to the stone floor and his lifeless body followed. No longer a shadow, the cloaked person stepped from the dark corner. The cloaked figure approached the rack and the tortured man sighed in relief…until her knife pressed against his carotid artery and she hissed a death wish in his ear.

Hissed…

Steam hissed from the kettle as the water came to a boil. Grandfather removed it from the burner and poured the steaming liquid into his coffee mug. He liked it plain, without sugar or cream. He liked a strong taste….strong like he used to be during the war. Strong and resilient. A taste that lasted for a while.

Lasted…

The battle lasted for days, with neither side ever gaining nor losing ground. Soldiers were getting tired, their arms ached from the constant swinging, the jolting blows given and received. Their armor was damaged, the shields were dented, the swords were chipped and broken. Morale was low on both sides, but still the fighting continued. The day wore on and the sun was hot.

Hot...

The dance studio was clammy and hot, but she didn't notice. She kept her eyes on her reflection in the mirrors and concentrated on her form. After all, the competition was only weeks away, and she still didn't have the routine finished. Recent distractions at home had cramped her style, and she was without inspiration for the final 8-count. She closed her eyes and let her head drop back. She grasped at images that might inspire her motion. A waterfall. Perfect. Her eyes fluttered open, and she turned a pirouette. Small colored wisps of chiffon on her skirt swirled around her slim legs.

Swirled...