Fun in the Sun


He found himself watching the sun on the wall. The sun on the wall.  He remembered people saying that when he was young, meaning that whatever movement that happened to be taking place at that time was moving so terribly slowly.  You’re like the sun on the wall.  Son.  You’re always so slow son.  So bloody painfully slow.  Get a bloody move on.  You’re always so bloody slow.  Aren’t you.  Like the cow’s tail.  You’re always behind.  You’re always taking up the rear, aren’t you, like time means nothing to you does it, but you kept yourself plodding on.  You kept yourself by moving on.  On.  You keep moving on, until the frame of the mirror starts to reshape the light.  The way the wallpaper has faded.  There.  And there.  Next to the old picture of the waterfall.  And here you sit, in your chair, and you know, you know, with absolute certainty, with absolute clarity, exactly when the moment will come when the sun first caresses the dresser.  The warming you can feel.  The warming.  On the days you get up and walk over and rest your hands on the wood.



Mark Ryan Smith lives in the Shetland Islands