Elliterate – post-modern musings of an inkslinger

It was a blustery afternoon. A smaze of grey clouds hung over the city skyline like a wet towel slung over the shower door. I was running late by 8 minutes, having missed my first bus, and so I’d scarecely heeded the weather man’s forecast as I rushed out of my apartment door. Judging by the sky above me however, I was predicting a storm.

Even on such a miserable day, the city was still full of people. Most of them much like myself, absorbed by the world of work, coming each day to the temple of the city to pay homage to concrete gods. I could feel a frown tugging at the corners of my lips, a gust of wind whistled down the tunnel like terrace, its streets lined with steel, glass and cement golliaths. I felt the cold most of all on my chest, I mentally scolded myself for not wearing a scarf. I had a box full of scarves, all different colours and sizes, and yet I still managed to traverse my way through the whole of winter without a swath of wool or silk about my neck. Perhaps I was getting forgetful in my old age. Though that excuse only stands if twenty-something-but-not-quite-thirty can be considered “old”.

I let my eyes skim over the bustling crowds, sliding over the familiar profiles of suited men and women, clutching briefcases, nursing manila folders close to their chests. Like so many ants, gathering what their queens needed and dutifully bringing it back to her. My bored gaze skipped from one person to the next, barely taking the time to notice any details of face or figure, I was so absorbed in my own hurried, frenetic thoughts I almost didn’t notice her. But then, it’s rare to see a figure so striking, so my pace slowed to an amble and I allowed my head to pivot upon my neck to properly take in the stunning visage of a young woman. She stood at the edge of a patch of grass on the opposite side of the road. At first it was her dress which caught my eye. It was a vibrant gold, cinched tight at the waist, but with long, elegant sleeves much like one would see on a kimono. The fabric almost seemed to ripple in the wind, as if the woman was wearing the surface of a lake, tinged golden by the rays of the sun. But the sky above me was bleak, and the weak beams of light which did break through the clouds were pale and colourless. Almost at a stand still I regarded the woman with a sense of awe. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, straight and smooth and the colour of flax, like a sheath of silk suspended over her skull. The strangest thing of all about this enchanting young creature was the object which she clasped in her slender hand. It was an umbrella, and there was nothing unusual about that, in weather like this most people carried an umbrella to keep their hair dry, but there was something distinctly odd about this umbrella. It shone, even in the limited light offered by the sky, a spangle of silver, as if it were made not from waterproofed fabric, but from some thin sheet of metal. It’s folds were so precise, their symmetry was so perfect, so exact, it put the skyscrapers surrounding it to shame. And the way she held it, not like some simple device created to keep heads and faces dry. No, she brandished the umbrellla, as if it were a sword, and she a strange samurai who would use it to slice through the rain clouds over head and banish the droplets of condensation from the sky completely. She noticed me watching her, and seemed to bow her head to me, as if to confirm my fanciful thoughts. My shoulders stiffened and I quickly looked away from her, focusing my eyes ahead on the pedestrian crossing. How embarassing that she should catch me staring. I looked about to see if any of the others walking along the sidewalk had noticed her, but they all seemed to busy, to wrapt up in their own heads to pay her any mind. I didn’t dare look back at her over my shoulder. I had wasted enough time gawking. Now I was sixteen minutes late. I picked up the pace. Power walking is an important skill, even for a marketing consultant like me.

As I was about to turn the corner and make my last mad dash toward the man made Zenith which housed my humble office my memory decided to kick-start its engines. I had an afternoon tea business meeting with some potential clients. Of course, I’d had it penciled in my diary for a month, and yet I still hadn’t prepared anything. Cursing my forgetfulness I hurried on past my turn and towards the central shopping mall, there was a supermarket there, I’d grab something quickly and then jog back to the office building. It wouldn’t take me long, five, ten minutes, maximum.

The store floor was packed with people, each manevouring there silver shopping carts, or swinging their bright red and green baskets as they perused the aisles, searching for whatever goods they felt they “needed” in their fridge and pantry. I made a beeline for the biscut aisle. Hoping that there, amongst the chocolate chip cookies and vanilla wafers I could find a suitable offering for my afternoon tea. The shelves stretched out before me, a horizon of colourful packages. I pursed my lips, taking little notice of nutritional value, searching instead for something tasty and at least a little impressive. Finally I found a pack of chocolate and almond Italian biscoti. Rushing, always rushing I grabbed it from the shelf and spun swiftly on my heel.

There, blocking my path, like some metallic spectre she stood. I felt a shiver run up my spine, the golden woman, had she followed me? She still clutched her umbrella, holding it to one side as if she were ready to parry an attack. Her eyes were two bright yellow jewels, the iris of each flecked with fragments of sapphire. Involuntarily I bit my tongue and stepped back. The smallest of smiles crossed her lips, she reached her free hand forward, its flawless, ivory flesh reaching toward me. I opened my mouth, my mind already forming a protest, but to my surprise she reached above my head. Plucking from the shelf a box of plain crackers. She brought it towards her with a fluid grace, it was as if it were some delicate piece of china and she was gingerly fetching it to carry it to its place at the table. I closed my mouth again, feeling stupid, what on earth had made me so paranoid? I was worrying too much about being late for work. The golden woman gave a gentle bow of her head and moved away, gliding across the supermarket floor like it was ice. I stood for a moment, watching her move, the box of crackers in one hand, and weilding the steel coloured umbrella in the other.

For a moment, I forgot about my meeting, the time, the brisk jog back to my office building, and I lost myself in the curvature of her spine, the elegance of each tiny step made by the enigmatic woman garbed in gold. As suddenly as she had appeared before me, she melded into the crowd of shoppers and I lost sight of her. With a soft shake of my head I spurred my legs and feet to action and wound my way through the throng towards the checkouts, half-hoping I would catch another glimpse of the elusive golden beauty.

This is the beginning of a parable like short story that slipped into my brain on the bus today. I intend to dedicate the next few days to working on, and I may post up each part as they are completed.

Margaret and David gave the Dark Knight 4 starts tonight on The Movie Show, it’s not often those two give a film such a high score. Of course, I sort of expected it. Nolan has a real flair for the Batman franchise and I’m very much looking forward to watching the film. Hopefully I’ll catch on the weekend.