My Jungle

It was surreal. There it was. My new home. The creation of crinkles surrounded my fleshy jaw as I endlessly smiled, portraying my excitement allowing all other thoughts to drown in the abyss. Colour, space, walls, toys, tables! The carpet was tender, the walls gleamed, the windows glistened. I was Tarzan encased in a captivated jungle of my own. Newly imported furniture towered upon me like trees radiating the reflection of the colonial light of the sun, creating this vibrant hue. How could something so new feel like a brother that I always had? Laughter, transcending music and the intense sound of my mother’s knife on the chopping board were the sounds of nature in my own jungle. The smell of my mother’s cooking blended with the overpowering lavender air freshener created an essence of tenderness. My mother, father and sister always embraced me with love and warmth, protecting me like bubble wrap. Couches, stools, tables, rugs, cabinets smiled back at each other as if they were friends being entered into a class together. Meanwhile, I was the teacher of my own school of toys, scattered across the floor providing me fun, distracting my consciousness of time. They were everywhere. From the catastrophic cupboard to the white window sills. River like reflections of just my eyes and my forehead could only be seen, blurred due to the short height I possessed at a young age. Senselessly swinging from room to room I always ended up perching in the most sacred part of the jungle… my own room. My room represented a barren cave allowing me to feel independent which I always adored as I no longer wanted to feel like child. It presented an atmosphere of tranquility. Peacefulness. Serenity. It rejuvenated me to be present in this loving atmospheric jungle. I rest upon the cascade of soften pillows and sheets, eyes open staring at the ceiling above. Enclosed. Loved. It was surreal. Here it was. My new home.

It was no longer surreal. Creases on my jaw were the only remains of the good old days, where only a expert geologist of the face could pick out the emotions of my past in its rock hard stature. The only crinkles vivid was the WiFi symbol scrunched on my forehead from the anxiety and stress of my world. Windows and walls groomed. In sadness. Boredom. Emptiness. The now colourless carpet created such a rough texture it generated friction in between my toes as I strolled around the house. Although I was still indulged in the same jungle, it felt if deforested with the absent of both my father and sister. The wore down furniture of the couches, chairs and tables felt old as I was now overgrown for this place. Dust like moss masked the furniture, no longer radiating a reflection, but instead creating a black and white hue. My brother was no longer the same. Silence. Deathly hollows of silence. Sound was non existent with my mother always at work and the disappearance of both of my sister and father, leaving me with the artificial sound of company forthcoming from my phone. Putrid smells of leftover domino’s pizza boxes bombarded on the kitchen bench mixed with sweaty smelly socks brought an aroma of a long night out. The bubble wrap had popped. I was now isolated, alone, embraced in anguish and doubt of my teenage life. Classmate appliances were bored of each other as if they were practicing their times tables with each other for years. Meanwhile my previous class of toys were now abandoned, resting locked away in a cardboard box on the window sill reminiscing the movie of Toy Story. I turned towards the windows. Despised by the clear vivid full portrait reflection of what I have become. Not even the once tranquil cave could blockade the change in myself and this house. My cave had collapsed puncturing the atmosphere. It was no longer tranquil. Peaceful. Serene. I no longer wanted to be alone and independent. I yearn for the embracement of love and company. Instead, I am forced to cage my love through the surrounding of my cushioned pillows and sheets. I lay restless upon my bed, eyes opened towards the ceiling. Defeated. Here it was. Surreal? My home?

One Reply to “My Jungle”

  1. Some great imagery here, Michael! Also, you have experimented with different sentence lengths – well done. However, I think that there are additional places where sentences could be joined for a greater “flow” of ideas – have a look at this. Finally, there are a few technical errors in this piece (watch apostrophes :)) and consider whether any vocab. is unnecessarily repeated. A great effort thus far.

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