The Loop

He sprung to lay back, pushing the back of his hand against his face. His knuckle pressed on the tip of his nose as he sucked in the air. With his other hand, he wiped the tiny drops of water on his left temple; and with two fingers brushed back his damp hair all the way to the tip of his ear. Just out of the steamy shower, and wrapped only in a black towel, the bruises on his chest were visible courtesy of the contrast created by the shadows. All across the left, back until his shoulder. He sealed his lips and sucked in the sorrounding air.

He looked at the glass table across, just under his knees, surfacing on the black marble. He leaned in to his wallet, extracted the transparent, sealed, small bag. In the corner of his eye he caught the LM cigarette packet. Gently opened the transparent bag. Tilted it slightly towards the table, and tipped it from its open mouth. He pushed the back of his hand against the tip of his nose again and inhaled. Hard. Clearing.

From his wallet, he took out his platinum credit card, leaning towards the table and alligning the substance. The screech of the credit card against the glass table deafened him. He brushed the tiny hints of powder on his black towel with the back of his fingers, and shifted his sight to the table again. Watching his hand shift the almost-weightless substance into a straight, thin line.

When he got out of the shower, he turned off the lights of the master bedroom. The 750 square metered house he bought, owned, in cash, by the time he was 32 years old, one year ago, was dead silent. The boilers switched off after cooling down, the buzzing died. Now all he could 'hear' was the faint light emitting from the lamp near the master bed behind him. He looked to his side and saw his great big shadow projected on the 5.5 meter high wall, excluding the decor, covering the what-seemed-to-be a hanged portrait. It illustrated himself standing behind a chair, with his hand firm on someone's shoulder. Or were his hands resting on the chair. The shadow looked over him, and he stared back. Judging his shadow. Noticing that his shadow was pitch black, with no shades to account for the bruises on his chest. While somewhere in the room, the light bounced and only highlighted the bruises on the left side of his chest. It was almost as if he intended to be seated in that particular angle so that his bruise can account for his whole being. What is seen of his being at least.

Reaching for a twenty KD note from his wallet, he folded it across and ripped it in perfect symmetry. He flicked one half across the couch and rolled the other half professionally. Almost squeezing the air out creating a vacuum in between. The same air space/vacuum which doubled for a passage. A bridge between his reality and his dreamland. He tapped the cylindrical torn twenty against the table to even out its edges. Both sides.

Leaned in to the table and pressed one side of the paper against the bottom of his nose. Struck the other nostril with the knuckle of his left hand, placing the left elbow resting on the table. Inhaling the dust off the table professionally leaving a line of two faint parallel brownish lines on either side.

He sprung to lay back, pushing the back of his hand against his face. His knuckle pressed on the tip of his nose as he sucked in the air. With his other hand, he wiped the tiny drops of sweat on his left temple; and with two fingers brushed back his damp hair all the way to the tip of his ear. Just out of the steamy shower, and wrapped only in a black towel, the bruises on his chest were visible courtesy of the contrast created by the shadows. All across the left, back until his shoulder. He sealed his lips and sucked in the sorrounding, filthy air.