the glass room and the tanker

A large glass room jutting onto the beach. Behind it, a forest of trees, perfectly straight, symmetrical pieces of wood with the tops cut off, like logs stood on end. I stand and marvel at the design. I say approving words to no one else; no one can hear me because I am here and they are all in the glass room. So many people I know in the glass room. I am reminding myself of how I know each of them when the ship appears at the horizon. An oil tanker, slick black and barnacled like I imagine whales to be, heads for the beach, for the glass room. It is bearing down too fast as its surface breaks, curves upwards like a fish. Suddenly the tanker flops like a massive trout on a hook, rearing from the beach, disturbing the ocean in great waves that finally catch...

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Posted on 8 Feb 2010 | 1 comment