The Balcony

He silently slid the sheer curtains aside and slipped into the balcony. The sunlight had snuck in tentative rays which bathed the crème colored finish of the railings. It cast short, demented shadows on the red terracotta tiles. He then settled into the comfy sofa. The sofa was quite modern, bought only a few months ago. The bright turquoise cushions were as bouncy as ever, you felt like you’d just sink in them and be engulfed by them. Its white plaited plastic base was clean and sturdy. A deep green Afghan cover had been artistically and carefully draped over the side, almost as carefully as it had been knit. There was a small, mobile frosted glass top table on the side and under it were the remnants of a long forgotten apple core. Maggots had long since left it to rot in peace. Our silent watcher observed it all. Even down to the subtle whispery movement of all the plants that lined the back wall. It was as though he’d been suddenly transported into some touristy Mediterranean villa. With a sigh he settled in even further into the massive cushions.

                                                                                                                            Simran Ali Malik

Thursday, August 11, 2011