Nothing could combat the desire to look beyond the warmth and the glass, and witness something beautiful. But the season had not changed.
This was a stellar monday, on the chilly forefronts of heat, and desperation. It was seven a.m. He slipped on a tattered pair of sneakers and walked outside, into the summer morning. There was nothing gorgeous in the world, and on this morning the desert seemed that much more confined.
Then, she fell.
The sky rumbled, and the shadow of the woman's body grew larger as she descended. She fell out of the sky like a bag of sleek, dead weight. He saw her form falling as he lit his morning cigarette, pondering the desolation of privilaged living.
When the woman crashed at his toes, the ground beneath her chipped, and the boy's first thoughts were what his mother's angry cries would be, how the profane and righteous would slosh together in an amalgam of ferocity and aggression. But those thoughts exploded into the bright morning sky, because this was an attractive woman.
Her volumous black hair was inhabited by a different presence, for it held its shape and grandeur despite the fall. Her eyes were closed, but even then he felt the emerald beneath her fallen lids. Her legs were slender and lengthy, and everything she wore was black, and stately.
She has been to a funeral, he thought.
The boy fell instantly in love, and took the woman as his lover, though she was fallen and dead. Months passed, and still the season remained locked and identical to the days preceeding newer ones. He rested her sprawled form onto his basement bed and cared for her delicate physical qualities.
Then, one morning, the beautiful woman had left. He awoke and saw a small note where the beautiful lover had been. And the note read: Look out the window.
He did, and was greeted by beautiful colored leaves and snowflakes. Basking in the change of a new season, the boy's eyes closed and his lips twitched and a smile slowly crawled accross his face.
The boy floated away.