Allister had one vivid memory of pure euphoria. It made little to no sense. He woke to the rhythm of some distant band. It was unfamiliar and yet very dear to him. He could not explain the rhythm beyond that. Only that the beat, not Allister's own free will, brought him to his feet. It shed his covers and brought Allister, bare foot and in his undergarments, toe tapping across the room. The sun was about to rise. It was merely seconds away. How Allister knew this, mattered little. Just that he did. Just that right in the middle of the rhythm, right as it hit the climax of the song, Allister flung his door open, the sun shot up from the ground and beamed lights all over. As if the sun, too, felt the rhythm, shooting beams to the beat and lighting the world in warmth. Allister swore the sun was smiling.
It is pertinent to mention that this day fell in the middle of winter and that this winter had been a particularly terrible one, with blizzards becoming so common that no one gasped when they awoke to find themselves blockaded indoors by mountains of snow. This day was no different. No different beyond the way Allister was acting. The snow fell almost in sheets. But, the sunlight beamed through in trickles in what one could only imagine was one of the world's first examples of disco lighting. Allister, barefoot and in only undergarments as was mentioned before, felt warm. Or, perhaps it's more accurate to say that he did not feel the cold. His feet, lacking boots, felt as though each footprint was ready for him, pre-made and perfect. Like the snow itself became his boots and these boots stretched all across the globe, like Allister's boots were the Earth's surface. This would make it almost unnecessary to walk anywhere. But, the rhythm was driving Allister now and he had no choice.
Allister moved in a manner that he had never moved before. A manner that could only be described as bouncy. But, this was merely a word and lacked the feeling that emitted. Like the sun that day, Allister felt himself shooting beams, an exchange between himself and the bright orb in the sky. It was as if everything was swaying. Everything caught up in the music that was barely there. Birds carved through the falling snow. Rocks popped up and down. Trees bowed and bobbed and squirrels grabbed the last of the dried leaves remaining and parachuted in unison at just the right moment when the beat had faded and then boomed back with newfound life.
The world danced that day. Why? Allister never really knew. But, it was also safe to say that Allister never cared to know. All he gathered from that day was that it dripped and felt like honey. That it was beyond soothing. That, it must be glimpses of those days that urge perfumers to bottle, master chefs to create recipes, and poets to pour forth odes. Those days come without request. They are not to be expected. They are only to be felt.
It is pertinent to mention that this day fell in the middle of winter and that this winter had been a particularly terrible one, with blizzards becoming so common that no one gasped when they awoke to find themselves blockaded indoors by mountains of snow. This day was no different. No different beyond the way Allister was acting. The snow fell almost in sheets. But, the sunlight beamed through in trickles in what one could only imagine was one of the world's first examples of disco lighting. Allister, barefoot and in only undergarments as was mentioned before, felt warm. Or, perhaps it's more accurate to say that he did not feel the cold. His feet, lacking boots, felt as though each footprint was ready for him, pre-made and perfect. Like the snow itself became his boots and these boots stretched all across the globe, like Allister's boots were the Earth's surface. This would make it almost unnecessary to walk anywhere. But, the rhythm was driving Allister now and he had no choice.
Allister moved in a manner that he had never moved before. A manner that could only be described as bouncy. But, this was merely a word and lacked the feeling that emitted. Like the sun that day, Allister felt himself shooting beams, an exchange between himself and the bright orb in the sky. It was as if everything was swaying. Everything caught up in the music that was barely there. Birds carved through the falling snow. Rocks popped up and down. Trees bowed and bobbed and squirrels grabbed the last of the dried leaves remaining and parachuted in unison at just the right moment when the beat had faded and then boomed back with newfound life.
The world danced that day. Why? Allister never really knew. But, it was also safe to say that Allister never cared to know. All he gathered from that day was that it dripped and felt like honey. That it was beyond soothing. That, it must be glimpses of those days that urge perfumers to bottle, master chefs to create recipes, and poets to pour forth odes. Those days come without request. They are not to be expected. They are only to be felt.
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