Synopsis: Vitrine of Consciousness.

Aetheria's personification of consciousness' 10-year odyssey, until birth, "You Are My

Sunshine." Her first two years of her life. at nine-month intervals, she’s resuscitated in
dramatic circumstances. her susceptible persistent Intensive Care Unit respiratory and
neurologic problems volatilized – Sunshine’s mother departed from home taking her
daughter with. Through the author's lifetime of notes, readers are drawn into a realm where
personal psychic experiences beginning as a three-month-old newborn. As the author learns
to write, the narrative unfolds the hybrid of the mind navigating the dichotomy between dark
matter and radiant light, ultimately revealing a world seen through the captivating prism of
neon plasma -- in other words, a maze of crystalline transparency.

Subscribe + Comment = Editor, or, what age group of the reader, the gender, in a
sentence your opinion. PS: Considering the writer’s profile, Thank You!

Flash Memoir
With Lionel and Gavin in the forefront of my mind, I’m glimpsing my wristwatch’s
daunting hands on the dial. Raised my awareness of their anxiety hanging on their visitation
rights, with hawks’ eyes circling overhead. Obsessive, I’m dawdling my Sunday morning
away, slotting 5-1/4-inch floppy diskettes to my Personal Computer. At a loss of attention of
backed-up my data files.

Then I sin by the glitches of guilt, as I’m seated behind my desktop PC. Play, the
unfamiliar Microsoft’s Disk Operating System update to MS-DOS 3.1, with the promise of
easing the operating system. While unbeknownst, new after the dot, weird three letter
extensions files added, without notice, raised my impatient frustration.

With foresight for the preemptive building contracts, I’m thinking. ‘_Better ready early
— where Jean left her desk in-build computer accounts. In the accounting package, which
stock control, I reversed for my part the utility to function quantity surveying blueprints to
suppliers’ orders and forecast contract’s cost._’

While I’m swearing and churning my guts, encounter the beast of deficiency. Stress
mounts my body acid, which signaled by a scalp’s hair fall, silenced in regard by Jean’s
abandoning her computer desk to her replacement. ‘_A banker, ought to know, but in
confusing debtor and creditor. Rendered the outdated computer obsolete?_’ I’m twiddling
thumbs during the slotting a series of floppy disks into processing the uploading the
programs. I adventured into the realm of my imagination, my enterprising in mind,
troubleshooting Multimate as a secretary. SuperCalc setup to forecast upcoming contracts,
which no salesman brought forth with a client’s signature. Kick my feet from under my desk,
raising goose pimples into my next move, holding back rise to my feet, as I’m telling myself.
‘_Needn’t rush to pick up Lionel and Gavin. Jean won’t let Lionel or Gavin go before ten
o’clock, on the dot!_’

I’m leaving the setup, with closer repeating glances at my wristwatch’s dial hands, to
reach the five-minute notch before ten o’clock. Flick the floppy disk to jump from the slot,
which I pick and slip to its jacket. Like a cherry, to master, at seeing the monitor screen’s
automated typing the commands lines loading the start-up program. After I lost myself, with
the new update’s features, siting-tight swearing blue murder at Microsoft. I spring to my
feet, with a hand stretch along the Personal Computer’s Central Processor Unit box, flick off
the atomic size and red flank switch. with a hip kick around the pointy desk corner, pulling
the reins, precipitating my strides, in sight to cross the raised adjacent slate floor to the
entrance door.

From the porch, I walk out to the courtyard, to a midmorning slanted sunlight rounding
underneath the Mercedes. I step behind the steering wheel, tweak the ignition key, toggling
gears to back up, and to drive away, pulling out the gateway onto Roseway’s dirt. Rock onto
the asphalt, turning by the corner house to Fairway, glimpsing my wristwatch’s dial. I crawl
the other corner house, across Sunnyway, rotating one house up Schloss’ house styled
terracotta tiled hips and valleys, to an earlier generation, onto virgin grassland remainders.
To a sharing grass plot for a cluster of houses. The car coasted as I steered the car onto the
concrete driveway apron, among gateways to a module subdivision to recent cement tiled
roofs, to halt in front of the gate grills.

From the eyes of a toddler emanating the Mediterranean architecture, as Father driving
the Studebaker truck towing the family caravan. When meandering narrow descending
streets’ siding, dense terracotta shards of hillside roofs. Raised Marseille’s turquoise seaport,
to embark for the Belgian Congo — While I’m sitting with small eyes. Peek through the gate
grill, the sun bright white concrete driveway along flower box cracks along the dark blue
clinker brick pan handle walls. framed in the end, the orange ripe roof slope cast a wild west
porch in the shadows.
 I’m glancing at my wristwatch, the dial’s hands at ten o’clock, with a minute to spare,
and peering, a gleam of motion darkening, to doubt. Until from the hollow a figure waxes,
Gavin sevenish, sprinting into the sunlight. Lionel tenish, a few strides behind, to an elusive
wind down in their approaching gait. gauged by unfolding alternating lanterns on lampposts
and the boys’ tall conic pines sapling skirts the lawn. Gavin approaching the gate's middle, to
fiddle with the chain, unknit one end to hang loose, the padlock at hand. He slips through
the crack, holds his pace for his brother, chain threading meeting stiles locking after Lionel
passed through the gap. From the windshield, by the window pillars, my boys figuring
contour opening the rear doors. I follow Gavin’s movements behind me, while Lionel, in the
corner of my eye, hangs behind the ghostly passenger seat, the apple of his mother’s eye. In
an abrading voice, fearful Lionel hush himself out, saying. “Mom says we have to be back by
five o’clock.”

As Lionel’s words pinched me, after spending my morning dawdling away, my body
clams up. begrudging Jean, will fall back upon my boys. I’m surmounting my darkened
heart, to Lionel poised in the rear door agape, bathing in sunlight. Liberating Lionel’s anxiety,
I’m answering. “Lionel! We’ll be back.” Still reluctant, but he climbs in, the door - smacks -
close. I tweak the ignition key, toggle the gears into reverse, glance past Lionel’s stressed
expression. Sunnyway’s up slope lining in the rear window, I uncoil in my seat, toggle into
drive, coasting away, assuring my thoughts with my boys, reaching the bottom of Sunnyway,
crawl the curb, to pick up speed, up the deserted fairway, weave out Kelvin, to the Old
Pretoria road, South, the security fence’s along the highway, vanishing with the upcoming
Marlboro intersection. Climbing the on-ramp merging with a trickling traffic, to shuttlecock
Vanderbijlpark’s outpost.

We picked up Jacqueline from home, and shuttle back, until the highway circumvents
Hillbrow, to an off-ramp glide. landing underneath the Houghton underpass, and in front of
the footed Hillbrow Television Tower, meandering in a down stream trickling traffic, along the
flourishing median into the rocky gully. We pulled offside, to the Wilds’ parking lot. All the
doors sigh the climbing out. Gazing at the roundabout’s wild nature reserve, smacking Lionel
and Gavin, lingering as we’re gathering behind the Mercedes.

We’re crossing the asphaltic pool, toward the ice cream cone’s to an easel’s advertising
board, along the stall, saddled door, hinged up lean-to. Approached a pensioner’s menial job
seated behind the serving hatch, to snacks and drinks. But alongside the stall, we borrowed
a trail to a rambling climbing the rocky indigenous botanical garden. Arrived at the top, to a
world of its own, amid the city’s outskirts, to the oxidized green sundial’s shade in the
gnomon inclined the present event toward the 2 pm.

I turned away, from the backdrop corner of the Johannesburg hospital, reminiscing an
invitation to the construction site, to a novelty and such a container loaded on a ship the
modular concrete elements to a double-deck interior amazed by a hiding a crawl ceiling and
service floor.

We’re leading to the curiosity, symbolic and latent post encumbered by pointers. Cape
Town’s showed kilometers my mind couldn’t perceive, other than on a map. Skip to São
Paulo at a loss of distance. In mind, jump the numbers to Paris, Brussels, New York on a post
of spiraling pointers. Uncoil Jakarta, Dhaka, pointers across the hospital. In turn, our
eyesight slips back, stroll away. Find beneath the sky’s spearheading Hillbrow Tower, our
earlier trail, splitting to borrow an alternative mind’s grasping descent through the rocks.

With Jacqueline in our midst, unperturbed Lionel and Gavin lead our descend through
overbearing branches leaf swells cast shades to scatter amid white boulders’ cracks
vegetating divers flora, bush and shrubs, approaching trails joining behind the brick stall,
coming around to a few cars on the parking lot. Behind the counter, we awoke the old stall
keeper’s long, lonely and bored face. He rose, in apathy, squared up to us. In drips and
drabs, taking our orders, moving in the background, returning drinks and wrapped snacks to
the counter, cashed-up. After Lionel and Gavin pacing away, with Jacqueline trailing. In
joining our little group, calling alongside the orange bright Mercedes, in sight arches the
see-through iron pedestrian bridge. Walk short of clustered street side green bush, the
gateway, to the sidewalk, extending a branch to climb the ramp sweeping overhead. Along
the pedestrian over-pass counter-wise, traffic trickles alongside the blooming parkway
median. Across the pedestrian bridge, immerse in the rusticated hill flank, to sense a
favoring firmament — Aetheria by her means, flourishing our path, to a flattish boulder, to sit
around, tabled for a picnic.

Lionel and Gavin headed on the rambling hillside, trailing the indented nature reserve.
Jacqueline’s smizing an elder sister on the boys after our brief afternoon lent seat, sip and
munch. Our path levels off to horses and carts age, butt, and on the flip side, facing a
suburban cul-de-sac. We’re tackless, stepping the shade to scatter in our strides, through a
wild leaf-branching barrel vault turning away from the fragmented skies shed sun flooded
roofs, reflecting windows, shine shaded facades. Gathered backtracking the crude path
exhausting into the hillside, rounding the trail. In our stroll further along the hillside rises the
distant city face, until emerging from Hillbrow’s glass and concrete cluttered towering
apartment blocks, fractured and sweeping the parkway passes beneath through the gorge.
Neared the arching pedestrian bridge, to step over a mounting afternoon’s mounting trickling
traffic, raising Lionel’s anxiety, calling. “We have to get back to mommy!”

Jean’s exigency, petrifying Lionel’s repeating words, playing strings with my nerves.
I’m reiterating. “Lionel! We’ll be on time back home.” Glimpsed my wristwatch, with a
bird’s-eye view along the launched highway a stretch away. While I’m after Lionel’s trolling
eyes on the Mercedes’ orange behind the fleecy sidewalk tree canopy, to the parking lot.
Jittery while Gavin posed up to the railing, amazed by a down stream traffic beneath trickling
away.

With Jacqueline in the passenger seat gazing at the gateway grill, the sun in my
window announcing the upcoming evening. Lionel withdrawing his face from his perched
eyes between the bucket seats’ backrests, extending an anxious peering from the
dashboard’s dial, with a five-minute notch to spare. He retrieves his head as we pull up to a
halt. The rear doors swing open. To Gavin croaking. “Lionel! We still have time with daddy.”
Angry at his brother for rushing me to drop him by his mother. Smack - Lionel’s door closes,
while Gavin lingers, unlatches his door, until - smack - closing behind me. Lionel and Gavin
emerge from the flanks, meet upfront. Gavin unlocks the gate, for Lionel to hurry slipping
through the gap, a few strides farther, to a pause, anxious eyes anchoring on his brother
rushing his along. Gavin’s eyes snarl, as he faces me gathering the gate leaves, treads the
chain around the rails, padlocks, tears his eyes away from the windshield, where I’m shades,
his eyes melting me to tears.
 I’m gazing at my boys dwarfing behind the grill, along the clinker wall shading the
driveway, until their living shadows vanish to a gleam of the entrance door. I hang on, until
my heart cools, saying, ‘_They’re inside_’ Gone to the chill of the spacious interior, drop my
hand to the gear knob, toggles to the reverse gear, backing into the street, to drive away.
With Jacqueline coiled in the passenger seat, I’m lost. ‘_Where to now?_’ The road leads out
of Kelvin, to the old Pretoria Road. A stretch to the highway underpass, lead us weaving
through suburban sidings. Arise across the valley Sandton Office Tower, and far from the
grasslands to reminisce. In our approach, the sun's rays dissipating from the bright brick
plinths to square a cave entrance --.

Reminiscent, how lost I was on our first date, the road leading to steering the car to a
crawl, entering a spill of sunlight filtering into the dark. Until beyond the raised boom,
sandwiched twilight guided us through a forest of bare concrete columns, semi-empty stalled
cars. Aimed a light crack, opening agape flood fluorescent light. By the unhindered foursome
plate-glass doorway, I spin the steering wheel, stall the car amid sleek undulated sheen.
With Jacqueline, I stepped out, meeting at the rear of the car, eyesight beyond the glaze
tunnel, a store-depth, and pressed our way past the plate-glass.

We emerged with eyesight meandering, for Jacqueline to cross the cornered walkway
toward exclusive fashionable mannequins, turning away before reaching the storefront. While
alongside, I’m imagining descending the escalator, keeping the architecture in mind. During
my bank days, I collect mail, striding through a flurry of people, to glitch the mall deserted.
but lonesome the level to the CNA’s landmark. My hopes are high, where the loner’s stroll
through inviting folded back door leaves against a series of frontline columns, to an island of
books. On the upper level’s call of exclusive boutiques, leaving Jacqueline indifferent. I’m
pacing abreast Jacqueline, the dogleg stairs to the level beneath to an evening activity
descending deeper foot the escalator. Underground, people circle by booking counter
hatches, trickle away to meddle with the moviegoers. In the hallway to the theater doors, a
curative post office box, with my exclusive address, blinding my crippling enterprise.

In our approach where the walkway surged a distance couple, by their lackadaisical
walk, figuring tourists lost in the void a Sunday. Jacqueline slew her pace across the clear
walkway toward the storefront window sprinkled glitters. I pace in her wake. arouse Aurras’
distant playing strings, rhyme to mind, a little girl’s teasing voice in the refrain.
‘_Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make me a match, Find me a find, Catch me a catch. . ._’ While
to my relief, I thought about Jacqueline unveiling herself, window licking glimmering to
crystals. While alongside an outdoor easel, cowers in the shadows behind the closed door.

Jacqueline side steps, past the closed door in darkness, turning the corner, doubling
the storefront into the outbound dim walkway. We’re window licking magic tiers of glazed
shelves’ jungle and farm animals, tradesmen glittering cluttered diamond facets. My mind to
lassitude, I’m hanging on, but skirting off the brilliant window to a leading wall into the
hollow service passageway, to meet Jacqueline pivoting away. She holds her pace, her mind
on the populated crystal figurines, questioning. ‘_Where we’re going now?_’

Jacqueline and I found the bright leading walkway. Instead of a storefront, strolling
figures disappeared in the crack. In our approach. A woman in her stride sweeps an
eyesight, stepping out the agape crack from the car park. In her stride, coming up pressing
her way past on Jacqueline’s side. Jacqueline leans out with a slithering tongue. “What are
you looking at?” The surprised woman drops her innocent gaze, cringing, and passing by, but
Jacqueline’s regard pursued her, before letting go, spins back abreast, walking my ego’s
current out of the past. The attractive boutiques came changing window displays to pause, .
skimpy figures riding the atrium’s barrel void escalators counter-wise under night faces
gluing on the skylight.

Jacqueline and I rounded by the tinted glazed balustrades guided past the elevator
paired doors, which in a staircase faced to the mezzanine beneath, flanked in darkness on
Sundays, an esteemed café to the passage facing a health food bar. For years, in long strides
during business hours, I crossed a gleaming passageway, led me to intersect with the
banking hall. I stepped into various Building Societies, collected payment from clients’
addressed to Aticon (Pty.) Ltd., which ended, depositing the checks into the company’s bank
account.

While I ruminate in disbelief at Jacqueline’s onslaught on the woman’s innocent gaze.

We stepped, in turn, offside with a glance at the curiosity of a VIP easel’s reporting Sandton
Sun Hotel. the bright tunneling walkway begins with a skimpy but glittery paired widespread
corner display. We’re edging the extended woman’s jewelry display at eye level to stretch
toward a niche to the shadows of a closed entrance door I rest in peace — without fear
squaring up alongside Jacqueline, her eyes stroking the best pieces of jewelry beneath the
counter glass top, and having to say. ‘_No!_’ without revealing. I can’t afford to play house.

We edged back window licking man’s watches around the corner until the window’s
sprinkled glitter paused for the wall running onward to a pair of heavy yellow wooden doors.
Reminiscent of inviting the son of Omega Construction, after the father had passed away,
who owed me for raising the brickwork to a house in Kelvin. Introduced to eating snail, but I
sought for a deal to foliage taking roots, to the raise concrete skeletal on Randburg’s main
street, gathering moss. Then with Jean, inviting Ilona and Johnny for a glamorous dinner, but
out of our league, rather held up to shame, in discomfort.

From the leading glorious walkway, we emerge to a silent auditorium. As off left, I’m
catching a glimpse. A young serving woman steps into the crack of a doorway, carrying away
a few cups and saucers. She left skimpy figures on a French island terrace. Jacqueline
paused alongside the gateway to the restaurant’s wooden platform populated by round
tables, huddled by ornate flimsy wrought-iron backrests to dainty seats. She sight across a
city face, the Hotel’s atrium drawing itself, to glitter bilateral slick glass cabins to a rhythmic
up-and-down. Jacqueline edges up to the tinted glazed balustrade, while lone figures stride
the staggering balconies to blind doors, lowering the face to rudimentary seated people,
among the ground floor’s vegetation surrounding fountain squirts.