Keys turned in the lock. He walked in, and shed his coat and jacket in the lobby. Then he eyed his flat. Soulless, nude space, open lines, cold, empty walls, uplifted only by the view, and the grey light filtering through the high windows. The absence of decor mirrored the void he felt biting at his core. He needed something to counter its grasp, replace it with meaning, or deflect it with a placebo blend.
Instinctively, he sat down on his couch and switched on the TV. Hoping to be filled by others’ stories. Zapped from one channel to the next. Found nothing to his taste. He breathed in. The atmosphere was warm. Maybe too warm. He needed air. Fresh air. He got up slid the glass door, and walked out on his balcony
Dressed only in his classic, matt, silk shirt, he braved the negative temperature, resolutely. He looked out over the lake and to the horizon. He needed to feel something. Gushes of frozen winter wind slapped repeatedly at his skin. He could sense his body shrink and shiver in the cold. Still he stood there. Unwavering soul lost in his thoughts. His perspective felt blurred. He needed focus.
This is an excerpt from a short story I wrote for Mug’s Tale’s 33rd Weekly Writing Workshop, entitled Purpose. Click here if you want to read the rest of the story.
Featured image captured in Yvoire, Haute Savoie, France, on the 22nd of January, 2017 with an iPhone 5S, HDR settings.