Page 18 - Cafe Volume 1 - e-magzine
P. 18
18
Screech
You fall into the miasma of Time folds into itself, collapsing
exhaustion and it shatters. Shatters like the matchstick house I feel like
into a thousand specks of nothingness. sometimes. It’s all moving too fast
I feel as if my bed is pushing me out, - it’s not moving fast enough. Am I
as if I’m somehow trapped being a wall worried about tomorrow today or today
made of latex or bubble gum or both. tomorrow? The world is too fast and too
Bubble gum because it is coloured hot slow at the same time and I don’t know
pink. Hot pink and red. Alarms going how make it move just right. I want to
off in my head at 700 infinities per try bringing it to a screeching stop.
second - when will it rest? It’s that word again: screeching.
‘Let me sleep,’ I beg my brain, ‘why I walk up to it to say hello. It’s has
must you torture both of us so?’ long nails and a beak that reminds me
‘I want to melt into the mattress of toucans though I’ve never seen one
too,’ my brain replies, ‘but there’s before. It wears a pointed hat. It is
something coming.’ ‘What?’ I ask sharp. It grabs my hand, tears through
‘Tomorrow. And we are not the canvas of this reality and drags me
prepared’ into the next. It disappears with the
We toss our head angrily at the sheer smarting of antiseptic seeping into a
pretentiousness of our words but there knife cut.
are bells in my head that sound like the I look around me. I’m on a never-
screech of nails against blackboard. ending concrete crossroad which
The day we were, we laughed, we seems to have plants growing on the
did. sidewalks wherever I look. The sky is
