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Short story: <i>Golden</i>

Through a golden haze, as terrible as the sun and as potent as a sealed garage full of petrol fumes, that’s how I see my future.

My whole life is spread out before me in technicolour, the past snapping at my heels in dark bloody violet and my future raining down on me in a haze of bright yellow that makes me think of cornfields and wheat and summer days and being lazy and falling down in straw and all sorts of outdoorsy, farm activities even though I’m from the city and I’ve only ever seen a haystack in “Little Boy Blue”. The colour of actual gold, which I saw in the museum, in bars and blocks and chunks after it had been dug up and washed.

I can lie on the ground in the back yard at our block of flats, where there is a little patch of dirt that turns into mud when the rain sets in, and soak the backs of my shirts and stare up at the grey sky past the hills-hoist spinning in the wind with my mum’s underwear turning see-through-white hanging from rusty pegs, and still see golden light through all the grey. It’s like I can always see the sun. If I turn over and stare into the mud for long enough I think I might see gold dust and that would solve a lot of problems, I tell you, but really, it’s just the future I’m destined to have floating in front of my eyes.

People would have described my mum as “matronly” back in the early 1900’s, now if anyone was to describe her at all they would say she is fat and grey haired and wears faded dresses and looks like she was born in an apron. She looks comforting though, and she’s looking out for my golden future even though she doesn’t see in colour. She keeps a piggy bank on top of the dresser in the flat and she calls it my investment fund. She puts every spare cent she has in there and when I’m grown up she’s going to take it to the bank and have it made into an actual cheque with my name on it and then she’s going to give it to me as my start in life as a capitalist who takes everyone for everything they have and never quits. And, when I’m a success, I’m going to take her out to eat at a fancy restaurant and take her driving in fancy cars and have her hair done, and all the dark bloody violet monsters with their hungry teeth and lean mean eyes will get stomped on by my golden future.

This is the result of a thirty minute writing exercise. The only constrictions were the time limit and five randomly selected words from the dictionary. Today the words were: matron, investment, terrible, lazy, and capitalist.

Image courtesy of noodlepie.

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