Warming my hands

Approaching the store front, I press my small nose to the dirty glass and peer inside. The hungry walls stare back through the cluttered room. My hands are spread wide on the surface of the glass. Tension fills the air on both sides of the barrier. I close my eyes.

Warmth begins to fill my palms and fingers, the temperature slowly rising. My hands have been cold for too long. Raising my head, I jump back to witness the glass dripping. The drops grow bigger until the top of the glass rains down, imitating a perfect waterfall.

I step slowly through the opening and greet the walls with a smile. They just stare. I begin to notice how dark and cool the room is. There are cracks under the walls. Little bugs begin to wiggle their way out, inching towards my feet. I fear they will bite me. One of them crawls up my leg and nibbles on my hand. My hands felt good before I walked through the melted glass; now, they ache.

I attempt to shake off the bug resting on my thumb and massage my throbbing hand. I walk over to a familiar lamp I used many times before while warming my hands. Confident that it's light will scatter the creeping bugs, I turn it on and direct it's rays towards the cracks under the wall. While trusting the light will work, I watch as legs quickly find the darkest crevasses to bury under.

Keeping the room aglow with the lamp, I inch towards my paintbrush. The handle feels warm with the familiar light. So do my hands.


(2 weeks!!!)