Afloat

He looked at the sheet of paper in his hand. Blow-out sale on Herbal supplements, it said. “Cleanse your system, improve your memory, wipe away those wrinkles”, it claimed. He read the sheet without absorbing its contents. The words and colors were not relevant. The shape was. He goaded his hands into remembering. The paper was showing strains of his effort. Folds appeared all over the pages, criss-crossing the surface like wakes left by boats criss-crossing near a lake shore. Near his hand sat his adjudicators, two children of three and five respectively. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and a tear welled in the corner of his eye. His hands wrung in despair, flailed in violent desperation and the paper lent itself as a canvas to his struggling imagination. Rapturous applause followed from his captive audience, as they took his creation and ran away to the rain on the porch. The victor cried. He had beaten his enemy again; just. His life was afloat, fragile, like the paper boat he put together. An impassionate comment rang out from the television set in the other room,” Currently, there's no cure for Alzheimer's”.