Creative Writing Captions: D11289
Drawn from Nature and as Large as Life: Thomas Frye's Fancy Heads
If I concentrate hard enough, I am no longer here but as the moment comes, when I have to open my eyes, I still can't believe where I am. This tiny light is all I have, the only thing that still seems real. Sometimes I watch it, burning away down and down, I remember everything but not in the right order. They were once here and quickly gone. Among them, here, the one. The one with the soft back, the one with the delicate neck, the one with the warm voice. I recall the day she left, gone like this burning candle. I try to see, I try to search but my light isn't strong enough. Every wall seems the same, every step falls the same. Daylight is a forgotten dream, as the nightmare has been for some time now, holding me captive.
I had a memory of women, of a woman I once knew before I came here. Now I am the man about town, urbane, witty and scientific. I know my looks go against me you see me clumsy and stumbling with fat fingers. But I am very modern, very eighteenth century and making my way in this grubby, pleasurable city. I sometimes miss the open sky and fresh smell of a country lane and you waiting for me in a field, in the hay, in a barn. Now she is here lying on a surgeon's table to be ripped open for science. What did she do? Did she really kill? Her child? How many women I have now known and now no one, but me, remembers her.
Young man holding candlestick
by Thomas Frye