the writing blog

This is a draft – I am currently working on it

The oval porch of the coastal white house offered a peek of the inside. Through the window, a diffused, warm light filled the room, decorated simply with two items: an old-fashioned tall lamp and a red-and-white striped armchair. An old man was sitting on it, his chin up, staring at something which my eyes could not meet. I tilted my head to extend my vision, but to my disappointment, it was just an extra bit of the white wall. It was a cold night, and I was strolling along the harbour. I tucked my nose back into my long coat, too light for the wind. The waves going back and forth whispered in my ears, drawing me toward the house. I was about 100 feet away, and my flat was in the opposite direction, but I could not resist the temptation. I looked back, indecisive. From where I stood, the town wasn’t so threatening; the picture in front of my eyes would make a perfect lit snowglobe calling for memories of warmed houses and steamed food. However, my body was still facing the beach house. I turned my head back toward the house to meet my body. One did not want to cooperate with the other. I settled on making my way home after the lamppost ahead of me – my body needing the reassurance and my mind the excitement. One step two steps three steps four steps five steps six steps seven steps eight steps nine steps ten steps eleven steps twelve steps thirteen steps fourteen steps fifteen steps seventeen steps eighteen steps nineteen steps twenty steps twenty-one steps twenty-two steps. My right foot closes the walk. I had reached my goal. I looked up, as the wind was slapping my cheek. I removed the hair from my lips, tucking it behind my ear, furrowing my eyes as I tried to observe the inside. The closeness offered an extra bit of the white selling, and of the pitch white corner of the room. Nothing there to see.