Sreya's Living Room

A fun little snippet from Raze. Enjoy.

___The walls were adventurous, a blue that suggested the sort of free-spirited joy symbolized by the sky it shared its color with. While my walls were naked and exposed, hers were dressed in ornate wooden wall hangings that smacked of tribalism, photos of smiling family members, even an artistic print by Sue Coe. On the mantle, arranged neatly but in no particular order, were little multi-colored clay statues from South America, exaggerated black and tank wood carvings from Africa, and stone fetishes reflecting the Native Americans. Centered on the coffee table, a very south-western terra cotta vase held unique bird feathers in place of flowers. Where one might expect a coaster on the end table, there was only the fossilized molar of some prehistoric behemoth, utterly unhelpful for the task of protecting finish and not particularly caring.
___Only the furniture was remotely tame, quality oak woodwork and plush tan couches that went nicely with the blue paint. She'd made these her own with quirky, flamboyant throw pillows from India, their festive colors and beadwork forcing the shy khaki hues behind them into submission. The centerpiece of most American living rooms was, however, absent: she had no television, only a well stocked book case cluttered with more volumes than the shelves were designed to support such that the overflow was heaped atop and alongside their more fortunate brethren. A spill of pothos grew wildly all over the shelf, like a fierce jungle vine cloaking ruins of a literary jungle. The room was schematically incoherent, aesthetically discordant, and utterly fantastic.