The Limbic's Game

Chapter 34

Slowly and quietly, side door opened with a slide and a click.

The van had now stopped at the edge of the bridge from which the car had just fallen. There was no evidence that an “accident” had just taken place, apart from the loss of a guard rail.

Legs laced with skinny fit corduroy and wrecked Chuck Taylors dangled over the sill. It seemed as if they were waiting for something. The many miles of experience that these sneakers had gained told them to stay there – exactly where they were.

The dirt and the rips and the holes were a memory from every single adventure that they had been on. All of that experience. Even that generates some kind of moral values.

At that moment, the knees that were attached to the sneakers began to swing back and forth – hitting quietly on the bottom of the van: it was mimicking a heartbeat. The corduroy was the veins. The soft-feeling material supplied life to every part of the clothes. They were covered in motor oil stains which flattened some of the vital grooves, but, life goes on. They can survive. The whole reason for wearing these trousers was to protest against the vast trend of chinos.

They just wanted to stand out from the crowd; the whole point was to make a difference to as many people as possible.

These grooves could change the world. But, they did rely on the belt that held them up – helped them to live their life.

It was leather and worn, but had a strong steel buckle that would hold strong and true, the hole for different sizes were all equally and well used. This belt had come through many eras, changing with the waist.

Adapting like parents with children as they age, this belt saved from embarrassment, and was even used when it wasn’t really needed. Pants riding low were both impractical and just stupid; it was glad that it was being relied on properly once more.

The experienced ‘Taylors had decided to go against their judgement, doing what they thought was best for the here and now – not thinking about what they were going to do, and how it would affect them in the long run. Worn canvas stretched under the strain of the feet that accompanied them. These feet were getting more and more demanding as time went on. The worn soles had small tolerance of asphalt now: all they wanted was refuge, and to do right.

The t-shirt came last, thin and flimsy. The navy horizontal stripes almost succeeded in fooling someone into thinking that it was stronger than it appeared.

Almost.

It flowed and avoided with each and every movement, only trading glancing blows with it’s recipient, cowering away from almost any contact with anything but itself.

The ‘Taylors took a step; the corduroy gave space courteously, allowing everything else to exist and survive.

The belt was the strong girder that kept a complex system in place, as it needed to be. The shirt just flowed and moved around everything else, clumsily trying to stay out of the way of everything else important.

The ‘Taylors took another large and confident stride, and everything shifted the other way.

See, it wasn’t really the corduroy that provided fire and life into everything, it was the warm glint in those deep honey eyes.