by clicking the arrows at the side of the page, or by using the toolbar.
by clicking anywhere on the page.
by dragging the page around when zoomed in.
by clicking anywhere on the page when zoomed in.
web sites or send emails by clicking on hyperlinks.
Email this page to a friend
Search this issue
Index - jump to page or section
Archive - view past issues
Livewire : Issue 1
he room is in greyscale; unfurnished, plain. One step onto the wooden floor would create a re- sounding echo. It would seem so lonely, so dull, so still, were it not for the large window, the one that stretched from one side of the wall to the other. Beyond the window is a scene that is vivid; it is alive and brimming with so much wonder that it threat- ens to shatter the fragile barrier of glass. Still images are but rare and fleeting. Night and day are both present, blending into each other into something that is not quite dusk or dawn, not twilight or midnight, but all in gradual succession. What begin as mountains morph into thick forest, merging into sandy desert beaches and fickle blue sea. Mythical creatures play hide and seek amongst the trees, unicorns gallop into the night, dragons circle in the sky, their fiery breath warm; the merpeople sing their captivating songs in the water, their laments bringing tears to the eyes. There are skyscrapers and towers, castles and urban buildings; they belong through their incongruence. There are people, their emotions and stories radiate around them, their laughter, their screams of agony, their hopes, their dreams; these are amplified by empathy and warm even the coldest heart. Time is no obstruction all come from different eras, past present, future; but their pleas of love, of sorrow, of anger, revenge, justice, they are eternal... Suddenly, there is a sigh. It is barely audible, but one would be able to hear it in the loudest of ca- cophonies. It has come from a girl, sitting on the corner of the window sill, gazing out the window with longing on her face. Her knees are drawn up to her chest, there lies a notepad in her lap. She, like the rest of the room, is in greyscale. She slowly turns her gaze on me, a fath- omless mixture of resigned desper- ation in her eyes. Softly, she speaks, her tone full of some feeling that she can’t describe, something she’s tried so hard to capture with words. I’m in here, when all I want is to be out there.... By caramelmango The window of imagination 4 livewire.org.au LW_04-07_Inspiration.indd 4 6/8/10 11:41:57 AM