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Drabble from the Muggle Novel in Progress

Sorry all, I was just really proud of this wee little bit of writing that will hopefully become intergrated into the Muggle novel I have been working on inbetween the fan fic for the last year. I just really liked it and wanted to share.

Hundreds of fallen leaves met their structural deaths beneath his boots as Max made his way back to the small apartment that had been his home for the past three months. The crunching was oddly satisfactory, as he pulled the collar of his leather jacket up against the wind. Max was staring at his feet, watching them crush leaves into worn concrete and thinking that if he were smaller there would have been a large pile of these leaves to jump into when he got to that place that was home. But he wasn’t small anymore and there would be no heap of raked up leaves for him. Max glanced up at the bags marked “yard waste,” and snorted. He remembered the smell of burning leaves that used to permeate the fall air. He missed that smell and the way it mixed with the cold. There were too many things that he missed now.

Max leaned down and grabbed a handful of dry leaves from the edge of the side walk, careful not to crush them in his hand. He carried them securely but gently, not wanting them to escape in the wind. His hand was full of color, the color of fire that the city zoning laws no longer allowed to burn. Max enjoyed the sound that his feet made on the cold wooden stairs that lead up the outside of the house to his apartment. When he reached the small deck that served as his front porch, he found what he was looking for.

In a small metal pail that doubled as an ashtray, Max placed the leaves reverently as if they were an offering. And in some small way they were; an offering to nostalgia and things that would never come back. He held one leaf in his hand, a brilliant crimson, sugar maple maybe; he couldn’t remember fourth grade leaf collecting books being too long ago. The cigarette lighter seemed foreign to the act that he was about to perform, and for a second he wished that he had wooden matches. The leaves were dry, they caught quickly; and Max stood in the wind inhaling the bygone scent that should have been everywhere but wasn’t.

Comments

( 5 comments — Leave a comment )
pan_alchemist
Nov. 9th, 2005 04:48 pm (UTC)
This was brilliant LH! As I have said before, I love reading your work. You capture the scene so well. I can almost see it (smell it)!
Keep on writing.
(a.k.a Videl)
ncsh
Nov. 9th, 2005 06:17 pm (UTC)
You could post your shopping list LT and we would eat it up.
No need to appologise....Muggle novel huh ? Sweet. Any redheads?
ladytory
Nov. 10th, 2005 02:40 am (UTC)
hmmm we are almost out of peanut butter and apples
violet451
Nov. 29th, 2005 10:41 pm (UTC)
Love it! That Fall smell of burning leaves (that we still get to smell in the middle of nowhere) is a such a powerful scent and memory. Fabulous detail that you've turned into much more.
ladytory
Dec. 1st, 2005 05:02 am (UTC)
yes it made me think of that lovely pic mom has of us in the leaves where nothing is showing but our faces!
( 5 comments — Leave a comment )