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Mitchell: in the boundary of reality & fantasy
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The familiar sound of traffic reached my ears, muffled by the protection of the car. Each car was bonnet to bumper at this time of the day. The sun was up, just barely above the low rise buildings. Somehow, this morning rush calmed me. Or was this early morning positivity the result of last night. I smiled at the thought and got lost in the memories, her smile, the perfect radiance; her scent, the light vanilla; her smooth skin, like silk.
The sharp sound of the ring of my phone jolted me to reality, as I picked my phone up from the side compartment. The four lettered word shone on the screen as I picked up the call and answered to my wife. With a pang of guilt, I wished her a good morning as she asked how my overnight board meeting had gone. I asked her if the kids had left for school and she replied with her account of how Johnny had refused to eat breakfast. I smiled at the sweet thought of my 5-year old son, with his messy hair, frowning down at a bowl of cereal.
“Mitchell?” came her voice again, pulling me out of that sweet image.
“I’m here”, I replied as she laughed briefly before continuing, this time about how much Celina cried when she broke her favorite hair brush. She finally asked me how my meeting had gone with the board members. I grimaced, running my fingers through my hair, as I briefly shrugged away the topic by saying it went fine. While, in reality, it was nothing less than a disaster. There were financial issues that had almost no escape in this competitive market. But there was no way I was going to let her worry about that. Finally, I wished her a good day and disconnected.
Relaxing my shoulders, I sat back with a sigh. I closed my eyes and saw this merry family, my family. Me, standing there with my wife, a middle-aged woman with grey streaks in her brown hair and blue eyes, her one arm around me and the other resting on our son. Johnny, a boy with ruffled brown hair and a toothy smile showing his crooked teeth. And in my arms, a 7 year old girl, my daughter. Her blond hair, combed neatly to fall right to her shoulders, her arms around my neck, holding me tight. This was my family and I was quite proud of them. They were mine.
Taherah, on the other hand, her soft and mesmerizing voice could rid me of any tension I had. Her soft brown eyes, which twinkled with the touch of sunlight, could hold my attention for hours. Her soft hands against my cheek could change my anger to a simple smile. She was quite a woman. I took a deep breath and released a shaky one as I looked out into the traffic. Guilt filled my heart as I realized the weight of the battle between happiness and righteousness.
What happens next? What do you think?
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This is a collaborative writing project. Stories are written by many authors associated with the project. This means, you can also be an author and shape up the story-line. We would love to have your contribution in this regard. You can either comment on the story-line or send us your piece of the story. If you wish to contribute regularly, please get into touch with us through this form. All contributions will be acknowledged in due course.
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