His narrow feet sprang spritely across the smoothly worn, marble cobblestone. His heels danced musically leaving the ground as suddenly as a spring storms as if each stone burned like a scorching coal filled with passionate intensity. Feverish with anticipation the clamorous anarchy of his mear footsteps echoing off the narrow brick walls; abruptly broken by deafening silence of anticipation.
At the crossroads of Salem and Hope Street stood the red paned door of the glass telephone box. Isolated in the warm and nourishing shade of the blossom tree the sensual sequence of rich reds and playful pinks havened itself from the bleak exterior of Jarrow in the tree shade of sunnywinking leaves. The door slid soundlessly; admitting him into dimmed light of the booth as a dozen plastered prints that smothered the back wall emitting a faint summer light like that of a cathedral window. …show more content…
Halted, he came forward to the booth. Staring at the black and ominous phone its figure whitened in his mind, unsolved: displeased, wishing that that very though didn’t just cross his mind.
“Burrrrring! Burrrring!” the boy burst forward, shoving at the door until it reluctantly speaking open, releasing a sign of neglect. He snatches it immediately, longing to hear the solemn intimacy that would return him to his docile self. Uncertainly urging, ‘Father?’
The voice on the other end was frail, no longer openly boasting about the triumphs of war inevitably traumatised by the haunting ghost that was humanities past.
‘Promise me you’ll be careful dad. Where so close to winter now and I can practically taste the warm cinnamon cookies lingering in the air, you know, the ones grandma makes. I can’t wait for you to try one again.
He paused, if just for a moment. ‘I love you dad and I don’t want to see you get hurt.’ No longer carrying the tone of the innocent boy he once
At the crossroads of Salem and Hope Street stood the red paned door of the glass telephone box. Isolated in the warm and nourishing shade of the blossom tree the sensual sequence of rich reds and playful pinks havened itself from the bleak exterior of Jarrow in the tree shade of sunnywinking leaves. The door slid soundlessly; admitting him into dimmed light of the booth as a dozen plastered prints that smothered the back wall emitting a faint summer light like that of a cathedral window. …show more content…
Halted, he came forward to the booth. Staring at the black and ominous phone its figure whitened in his mind, unsolved: displeased, wishing that that very though didn’t just cross his mind.
“Burrrrring! Burrrring!” the boy burst forward, shoving at the door until it reluctantly speaking open, releasing a sign of neglect. He snatches it immediately, longing to hear the solemn intimacy that would return him to his docile self. Uncertainly urging, ‘Father?’
The voice on the other end was frail, no longer openly boasting about the triumphs of war inevitably traumatised by the haunting ghost that was humanities past.
‘Promise me you’ll be careful dad. Where so close to winter now and I can practically taste the warm cinnamon cookies lingering in the air, you know, the ones grandma makes. I can’t wait for you to try one again.
He paused, if just for a moment. ‘I love you dad and I don’t want to see you get hurt.’ No longer carrying the tone of the innocent boy he once