(Written Wednesday 9th January 2013; 18:55)
The room was bright when he woke. As usual he had gone to
bed leaving the bedroom curtains open and the light of the full moon flooded
in. Keeping his body under the blankets he shuffled upwards so that he could
look out of the window. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room said
that it was well past midnight.
Reluctantly he slipped out of bed and knelt on the rug. He
pulled the chamber-pot from beneath the bed and pissed in it. He felt relief
flooding through him as the stream of urine struck the white enamel.
Curious, he decided to go and look out of the window. The
bare floorboards beyond the rug were cold beneath his feet. When he reached the
window, he paused and looked towards the horizon. The moon was high in the sky.
On a whim, he opened the French windows and stepped onto the
balcony. The stone wall around it was lower than one might expect. It was barely
higher than his knee The architect had been more concerned with the appearance
from the ground than with safety. Casually he stepped over the wall so that he was sitting astride the parapet. Surprisingly the air
felt warm. He brought his other leg over and sat facing outwards with both heels resting on the ledge at the base of the wall. He studied the moon. Slowly he rose and stepped forward. The night air was firm and resilient, like turf or an expensive carpet. After a moment's pause he began striding forwards and
started climbing confidently towards the moon. He walked with measured paces. There was no need
to hurry. After all, he had the rest of the night.
(Finished 19:10, Pages:
1, Words:250)
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