Desk

I sat down and wrote something new today.


From this perspective, the columns are giants. They reach up, stretching to hold the ceiling in its place. They are marble, with gray-brown lines wandering through spots of sandy-brown and red dirt. The floor mimics the marble, but with paler tones and straighter lines. The tiles criss-cross, dancing away to the wall.

Next to the door on the far right sits a desk. Marble lines its top and bottom, gray with shades of brown so light they're almost white. Above the marble which rests on the floor, wood appears. Almost sickly light-brown in hue, it flutes - inward first, constricting in uneven steps, then back out matching the movements in reverse. This could be the work of a craftsman, or maybe just a factory machine.

The wood makes broader strokes above this, large rectangles with smaller ones set in at even intervals. The largest rectangle sits facing directly forward, while smaller ones - two on each side - turn away, giving the desk its shape. Above these rectangles the wood moves in a final flourish, although one much smaller than it began with. Then it is topped with a thin layer of marble.

If someone were sitting at this lone desk, they may very well feel pinned in by the thick wood and marble rising to waist height. But nobody sits here. The desk stands solitary, unnoticed by the many passersby going in and out of the heavy doors, while it gathers dust.


-Kat