Just One View

Just One View

By Dominic Brooks

Thinking, the Man sat and thought; in his home that overlooked a small patch of grass, a school, some trees, and valley of cars and buildings. While sitting he read his book and thought, I must find a job because I need one so badly, or so he had been told. Looking out over the grey cast City scape the Man took to finding his Curriculum vitaes, finally finding them creased and forgotten beneath a stack of books he had yet to read. If only there was a job for me, a career not a job, that’s what I need. Thoughts of musical paths and creative vocations pass through his head in an instant, before dissolving into the background noise of his mind, steadily abandoned to the annals of his memory.

Drawing back the door to his bedroom, he pulls on a heavy coat and ill-fitting shoes. Unbecoming but comfortable he searches franticly for a while, occasionally forgetting he is looking for his keys. Until at last his search pays off and another hidden treasure is saved from the depths of the deep blue settee. Carefully he places them in his left pocket, the right now unusable because of a neglected gap left to grow over time. After gathering the essentials e.g. Cigarettes and taking the time to arm the house in case of youthful intruders, he slips the key into the lock and it clicks shut. Then turning away from the door he thinks of the long walk ahead and it becomes more daunting than enjoyable and for a second. Thoughts of sitting down and smoking almost win the battle against motivation. Distracted by a buzzing from his phone the invisible mental battle is set aside, and he begins to walk in his own unique, jaunty fashion steadily loping toward the high-rise buildings in the distance. 

Passing building and people alike the Man begins to inspect the persons that go by. Happy then sad, frustrated then care free. The sad and frustrated more often than not in guises that imply their jobs are to blame; they hurry past as if work is an important place to be, and home is a place they long for. Home is where you should be at all times, he thought, connecting the gears of your life to realise your dreams. Not a place to just eat and sleep, or else you may as well have stayed working. With this in mind the Man, now slightly disheartened, began to make a point of enjoying his surroundings. To his right an average looking building catches his eye. Visually ascending the tower he explores the rich history etched deep into the anatomy of its stony features, until finally he reaches the peak of its glorified stature. 

A lonely roofed turret sits atop the building; large arches holding the ornate celling in place along with the elegant masonry adding to the Romanic apparel. Taken aback by the stained beauty of the tower the Man cannot help but wonder, if I am down here and impressed, if I venture up there will it take my breath away? With these words in his head he lets slip thoughts of responsibility and work, taking to the spiral staircase, like Adam to the apple. Upon reaching the top the Man takes in the stretching view of the suburbs and estates, this is not quite what I had expected, thought the Man, I’d had in mind a breath taking view of City and surroundings, yet all I find here is a lofty perch… and a view fit for pigeons. I must find the view that I know is out there, that I know will satisfy my need for a picturesque memory and an unforgettable moment. Now questing for his picture perfect moment the Man seems more full of force and resolve, strengthened only by the action of leaving his “skills and expertise” behind, forgotten along with the view he found fit only for pigeons. 

Back at the base of the tower the Man follows his feet, step by step letting his worn down shoes lead the way. Feeling the cobbles beneath him the man walks on, occasionally stopping to remove a stone that has managed to sleuth its way into the confines of his broken foot-wear. The wind picks up and the clouds start to clear and taking advantage of the new born Sun the Man changes direction and follows the wind toward the heart of the City. As he walks the few passers-by increase hundred fold. Suddenly wave after wave of busy souls crash into the oncoming traffic, yet like the calmest river the flow never ceases. Conversations become like left overs to him, overhearing remnants of dialogue never meant for his ears. If only I could put a context to “he told me off like dog” or understand what “idiosyncratic” meant, I could piece together these dog ends of conversion. 

Absolving himself of these pointless trains of thought the Man stumbles upon a staircase, a staircase he has neglected to notice up until this point. Curious the Man makes his way up the dark passageway, passing graffiti and discarded newspapers as he goes, footsteps crunching on the crumbling steps of the unkempt stairwell. Dripping can be heard from a far-away leak, an aural testament to the buildings state of disrepair. 

How can a building be left to rot? Stone is meant to be forever, yet anything left untreated will erode into nothingness. His mind flicks back to the renouncement of the CV’s for a moment, but his concentration is suddenly broken by a blast of light from the opening above. Upon reaching the summit of the companionway he finds himself stranded on a balcony of green grey stone. The birds nesting there are panicked at his arrival in their makeshift home and flee in fear of what may become of them if they stay.

 The Man stands watching their departure into open sky, leaving him stranded at the Overhang Airport. Once out of sight he turns his attention downward towards the bustling high-street. Reaching out on either side, arms of glass and stone stretch forward toward the Horizon in a gamble to catch anything that attempt to escape their clutches. Between their steal embrace lays a blanket of shoppers of all shapes and sizes, scurrying in the sunshine towards the next indoor paradise. Beating down upon them the Sun is past her half way point, dying, and with her taking the day into its daily grave. Why the scene before me I cannot abide by I do not know, it holds a certain allure and metaphorical beauty but it lacks presence, it lacks soul. Packed in-between these commercial giants, those who inhabit this space have lost their implication of humanity, Surrounded by each other, but more distant than any star in the sky. Shaking his head The Man slowly walks back the way he came, back down the dark staircase and then out into the savannah of bustling people. 

Entering the now shady street a powerful gust of wind hits the Man sending his coat into a billowing frenzy around his body. He quickly zips the coat closed in vain effort to remain warm and looks left towards home. Unseen tendrils of prospective comfort and relaxation taunt and draw him back the way he came, then like a spectre the instinctual desire to return is gone as quickly as it was announced. Overthrowing the lure of the homeward bound fishing line the Man looks to his right, the long path towards the river dares him to venture down towards its earthy banks. 

It’s been so long since I worked on the river. Maybe now it can offer me some voyeuristic contentment, or at the very least a feeling of nostalgic retrospection and a more responsible past. Hoping this may be the end to his echeloned journey, he decides a break is in order. Abated by primal mechanics the realization occurs to him that he has not eaten since day break. I MUST EAT; his stomach groans the words, floating to his brain and clawing away at the back of his mind. Enough, I surrender… I can last no longer. I abdicate this time to sustenance, reluctantly grateful. Adjusting his journey slightly, he dodges left and right in a stream of people brushing past with barely an inch to spare. Entering a high street bakery searching for the perfect view is momentarily postponed in lue of instant gratification. Finally deciding on the food that will satisfy his now substantial hunger the Man peers into the glass larder prison, the inmates stare back with unblinking eyes and ginger bread smiles.  

Arriving at the great river the Man sits on a weather worn memorial bench and inspects the sky, and sees the Sun losing her dominance overhead until a flurry of wind causes the Man great displeasure for a moment or two. After the wind abates a spell of eerie calmness is cast across the now placid waters. Seagulls fly far above staring down at him, acting as the eyes of god. They bark incomprehensible orders down at The Man, who now lost within their Ariel dance, lets their cries fall on deaf ears.

 The Man admits to himself a secret yearning to be one of them and abandon his earth stranded body and sore, sore high to find the view he knew would be waiting there. Casting his vision across the river he explores the far embankment, wondering if another was searching for something similar to him. All along the river buildings scare the sky, jutting up and outward pointing towards the heavens in accusatory fashions. Mud encases the lower region of the solid grey concrete running along the waters edge, stretching on forever, aged but still enduring the test of time and Mother Nature.

As he looks into the water it begins to take on its own unnatural life, hypnotised by the swirling mystic patterns he stares for what seems like hours. Thoughts abandon him and the inner silence lets his heavy head rest. Bubbles on the water, turn to a flat swirling mist, I’ve been here too long… Poetic thoughts suddenly rife within him, he stares into the distance and decides, I have not found my view, but maybe some piece of mind. This search has taken me to the river, where my past is washed away and I am re-born. Maybe now I will find the path I need to walk. Turning away The Man walks forward, determined in his stride to return home; with each step he feels the call of home grow stronger and stronger inside him. 

           Click. 

He slots the key into the lock and walks inside, draws open the bedroom door and removes his tattered coat and battered shoes letting out long a sigh of relief as he does. Dropping onto his bed like a stone he lets out muffled grunt, glad to be home and glad to be laid down. Throwing his coat to one side he checks his phone, then seeing it is as empty as it always is, discards it along with the burdensome coat and broken converse. Looking to the window the Man notices a strange   golden   glow seeping through the cheap translucent blinds. Going to the window he fights with the string mechanism, finally overcoming them. The blinds rush open; laying bare the secret once locked behind. 

The Sun blares down upon him as he casts his eyes over the valley of cars and buildings, no longer are they grey. Now bathed in the transforming light of the auburn hue of the sunset, the City is transformed. Orange light from the Sun falls forward washing over all she can see, silhouetting trees against the canvas of the urban landscape, becoming fingers painting an incredible picture and reaching for the clouds now coloured red with passion. Horizon calls to his lover and she draws ever nearer. The Man stands in stunned silence, simply enjoying the moment.  

…The Sun blinks one last time as she sinks into the arms of Horizon.

As if to let him know,

His search did not go unanswered.

 

The End