This week's theme for Sleep is for the Weak's Writing workshop is, Childhood Memories.
Here is my entry.
It was nothing more then a glimpse, a childhood memory. Fluttering moments of fleeting images stretched tightly across the empty pages of his mind, warming the senses like comforting rays of mid-summer sun. A memory of happier times, of love and laughter, when the world was less black and white but a riot of beautiful cascading colours cocooned deeply within the endless bounds of safety.
At first it had been so clear and vibrant, as if peering through polished glass. Now it was worn and faded like an old, well loved photograph. Dog-eared, torn and tattered in placed but the time weary faces still remained.
How he longed to dip his hands into the shimmering opaline swirls and to be able to pull their brother back to them. Back, as he was then, effervescent innocence barely contained. So full of wonder, of colour, love. Of life.
Filthy shadows simmered and scratched their way into the image, greying the edges and smearing the colours as acid bright flecks of the present burnt through, bleaching out the memories as the embers slowly crackled and died.
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