8 No Round Face
She realised that in this dark round Pumphouse prison time had no face. If there were no face, where were the hands? How could she tell what time it was?
In the dark, and as the concrete floor and rough rendered walls dug into her body, she had to move. She knew moving would hurt her more but it also hurt to stay put. Pain was part of her life, a circle of do more get more pain, manage time and do less equalled less pain. That was the theory. Sometimes it helped sometimes it didn’t, but it was an ongoing never ending cycle.
It occurred to her to remove at least some of the pain from her back against the rough rendered wall, so she sat in the middle of the concrete floor. The trouble with that was she have to support herself, and use her own back muscles. We will see how long that could last.
So she sat crossed legged in the middle of the concrete floor facing the broken window. Maybe it would give her a different perspective, and she could pivot to see (as much as she was able within the dark) different views of the pumphouse depending on the slice the Moon illuminated.
The round full Moon was now in the centre of the window with jagged glass edges across its face. Seeing as the pain was preventing sleep she decided to concentrate and focus, and study everything on its surface. “The Man in the Moon” she said out loud and laughed at herself. As a child she swore she saw him, and here he was as clear as day. She could make out every feature. Funny how she could see him now so clearly, as she was stuck in here going nowhere, it was more like he was studying her.
She reminded herself to sit up straight and strengthen herself, and from this centre point, she would be able to pivot 360 degrees and study and see depending on the Moons light, as much of the interior of this prison as possible for any ideas and possibilities there may be for escape. Seeing as she could not sleep, what else was there to do?
As she sat and pivoted to change her view with the Moons movement there were some things she saw physically and some in her minds eye. The Moons own cycle of movement currently and changes of face that always and predictably happen. Her own cycle of pain within her managed life to try and prevent it. Her own child’s round face always upward turned like a baby bird irrespective of her age. The coins that came in and left her purse, constantly flowing in and out. A lot of out! but she always managed somehow, somehow it cycled back to her she realised as she thought about past finances. How had she managed to do that? Had that been her?
She saw the childhood dreams that had left her, careers that had been unobtainable, but remained at the same time. Their imprint guiding towards different dreams and other careers, as if the journey towards their achievement even if not reached, contributed to the next. Skills that never left and cycled back in helping to achieve and progress the next stage in career.
She saw Noswad and the circle of behaviour they had both continued that caused heartbreak and joy time after time.
She saw the etched drawing she had done with the glass. She remembered doing it it. But when? Time had no round face in this place. She tried to refit into the silhouette she had drawn of herself but couldn’t, the moon was at a different angle on its own upward as well as circular travel of its own.
She saw more of the rendered wall, nothing interesting in this degree of pivot, although maybe rough and dark in the gloom, she thought she spied a crack on the surface. Maybe it could be removed and maybe she could use the glass and scrape her way through the wall, if she was lucky, if the wall was old and soft. Maybe she would look into that tomorrow when it was daylight, when she could see properly.
Tomorrow, when would it ever come? When the sun comes up on its own travel cycle around the world.
“Its the other way around” Brain told her “we are circling around the Sun.”
” I know” Body said “but there is hope”
“Tomorrow is another day” she heard Nana say
“There is hope” said an unknown voice “Be still”
© 2024 Jennifer Harris. Free And Alive 555
