Mikannie one-shots

Outside Inside

Wind howling. The tin of a soda can rolling over bricks, echoing in the narrow alleys between apartment buildings. There's a light static of buzzing lights, the hum of my bunkmates' words rolling around behind me.

Outside is dark. Purplish sky, so dark you can barely see the silouettes of the trees atop it. It's cloudy, the stars and moon have disappeared behind the wisps of purple. Pale, champagne colored lights glow outside and yellow light glows behind curtains and blinds.

Outside is dark, but inside is bright. Outside is cold, but inside is warm. Outside is empty, inside is full. Outside is harsh, inside is soft. Outside is ghostly, inside is lively.

Outside the wind howls and rumbles like a bear's snores; scary and yet comforting. It moves in waves like the tides pushing against the hull of a sailboat, rocking it into submission. Outside, tree branches scratch and snap, tree branches wailing and crying out as they sway, fingertips brushing through the clouds. Outside, crickets and cicadas chirp and squeal a high-pitched song, their voices sharp and piercing.

Inside there is deep music, sound rolling over your ears like the tides against the hull, rocking you back and forth, only interrupted by the occasional scratch or scrape of the needle on the record. Inside the air feels soft and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. Inside the hearth breathes warm air, inhaling the cold, exhaling the heat. The wood glows reddish-orange, and crisps as it burns, crackling like stove-popped corn.

Outside is beautiful. Outside is cold, and sharp, and scary.

Inside is soft. And it's warm. And it's safe.