What to do

A light show, in the
privacy of my own eyes.
I watch, one, two, three, a flutter.
The drone, that's what it has become.
Been reduced to. I don't want to hear,
but it what if it comes up.
On Thursday.
The day. God save us all! I worry.
Maybe just me, not us all.

I need to redo that one. I wonder.
Whip out my iPhone, quick Instagram.
But then it's gone.
Why? Not like this will help, I don't care.
So what? They always talk down to you,
how awfully unnerving.
I sigh. A roll. What to do.
What to do.
What to do.

Time

Calm. Neurones, impulses. Calm.
Don't think about it. Just an hour.
It'll be over! Think about it,
the freedom. The enjoyment.
Just for a little while
back to work of course.
No time like the present.
The sands of time, quickly,
quickly.

I tap my pencil, what does that mean?
Yes, yes, glucose, ah maybe that's it.
I don't know! It's hopeless.
The piercing stare.
Over my shoulder.
Leave me be! Leave me alone!
I can't concentrate.
Tick. Where's the tock.

How was it? Oh, that old one.
I don't know, alright? What use is it.
Bad. Awful. MCDs, here I come.
Do you have my apron?
That's my future.
Laid out for me.
Oh, that damn glucose.

Forgive and Forget.

I remember, Cinderella story. Sleeping Beauty. Snow White.

I would wake up, yes, and you would lay the soft petals upon my own. 

then my whole world would make sense! At last. The meaning to life.

It would dawn, upon my youthful heart. 

Then you'd take me. We'd ride, far far away, to another land.

Princess. Glitter. Pink. Love.

that's what I wanted. That what I expected of you.

Do you think it's my fault? I really don't know.

Maybe, to depend on another is a sin. 

Are we not told, to follow our heart? Was that so wrong.

Apparently it was.

forget. don't forgive though, don't do that. 

that dirty little... he doesn't deserve it. 

it's an easy tap at the right key, and off through the network it goes.

to find a home. an unpleasant surprise, flashes before me.

I feel rage. Hurt. Tears. 

Why am I upset? I blame myself. No. 

Stop. Forget.

But never forgive.

Creme de la Rose

next page. Staring at the wall.

The paint (Creme de la Rose, Crown), it's interesting.

Is it not? It's a wonder, you know, how it's so smooth,

you'd think, that with the clunky, old, clogged up brushes that it would

be lumpy, and rough. 

Anyway. Too much wandering.

Where was I? Ah, yes.

Okay, that makes sense, I'll make a note of it. 

That window needs to be cleaned. I'll run it by mum,

She'll send someone over. 

The pile of work seems to be growing, or is it just me?

Time has flown by, seemingly. I did not even realise a thing!

How ignorant am I? This is all getting to me.

The paint (Creme de la Rose, Crown), it's interesting.

Minutes

Tick... tock. Long, it does not end. When?
The seconds drag, scraping the sands,
My pencil, their paper. One hour.
Two hours.
We stand at the start, on our marks,
That is what we want, after all.
We are not together. We stand alone.
We are not we. I am I.

They said go, I think. It's blurry.
I don't understand, what? Read it, again.
And again. Answer it. Got it?
Go.
Go. Keeping going. There is not time.
Don't stop. Don't think. Don't feel.
There is a scheme. One to follow. Think like them.
We want our marks. We need our marks.

Five minutes left girls. What did they say? Only five.
Five more. Then its over. Just concentrate.
Differences between meiosis and mitosis.
You know this. Imagine the gloss, the smoothness.
Between your fingers. You feel it. You remember.
What were those stages? What does it matter.
Three more. Keep going.

I can't.

Feather

Light, like a petal,
But. You are not,
You fall, falling, from the wing, the chest,
the body, of another. Who is the other,
Never will I know
It is not for me to know.
Another tale, another story. Life. It moves.
It flows. Like water, like a river.

One day, do I wonder, will I meet the life,
This other life.
I will not acknowledge,
I will not be acknowledged.
Ships, in the darkness, sailing smoothly,
They are oblivious.

What do people see,
The early morning Starbucks,
Maybe a Costa, whatever the mood is,
whatever is closest.
The quickest, the fastest, the easiest option.
Does the scent of the red reach you?
Most likely not, I know.

The feather is soft.
We all know.
Why bother.
A bird tweets. It tweets somewhere.
Where?

It doesn't matter.

The Last Time.

“You look scared, don’t be scared. This is for medical purposes, remember, what we bring back could help save a life. You’re practically a paramedic.”

The rifle feels uncomfortable in my trembling hands. It does not fit, like the wrong key being forced into a lock.

“What medical purposes?”

I am not given a reply. Just a hearty laugh and a forceful clap on the shoulder, that pushes me out of the tent. The rainforest is teeming with life. I hear the lyrical songs sung by birds, the clicking of exotic insects and the shrill chatter of monkeys somewhere in the distance. There will be one less animal out there by the end of today.

“Alright men, you know what to do, fan out.”

My boss’ booming voice resonates through the fleshy undergrowth of the rainforest. I’m running. Faster, and faster, gathering speed as my boots dig into the damp earth. Very soon I’m alone. I carry on running, waiting for a sign. I freeze, hearing the gentle trickle of running water somewhere in the distance. To some, the sound of flowing water is soothing, but to me, it means my victim could be close. An easy target. I hack my way through the thick green cables suspended around me with my blade. Softs ferns brush against my bare calves, tickling me. The sensation is oddly pleasant. Sunlight filters through the patchy green dome of the canopy overhead, and dust particles dance in its rays. The sound of water is closer. I must be nearing the stream, as I can hear the delicate lapping of tides on a sandy bank somewhere nearby. But I am wrong. I am getting closer, and the closer I get, the closer I come to realising that it is not in fact a little stream, or a pool, but a raging waterfall rushing out of a crevice in a tall wall of rock to one side. The fierce jet of water plummets down into a death trap-like plunge pool below. The ferocious, glittering water froths and spits foam as it rushes past me and into the distance. I perch stealthily on the branch of a tree, twisted with age and covered in a harmless moss. I know this from experience. I hoist my rifle up, off my back, and hold it, poised to kill, like a lion, about to pounce on its prey. For a moment, just one moment, the weight of the killing machine in my hands, and angry river below frightens me.

No, just remember, they will all be jealous when you return with that beautiful carcass, and you will have saved yourself another bruise from your boss, I tell myself as motivation.

I am in the prime location, I am armed, and I am ready. I could never be more prepared. All that is left to do is wait. I wait, and wait, and wait. Nothing. None of the animals in the lively forest are feeling thirsty apparently, to my dismay. I hear a rustle in the plants, to see a lone crocodile saunter up to the edge of the river bank lazily. I hold my breath in fear. It does not notice me thankfully, and quietly submerges itself in the bubbling, white water. It is intriguing to see how well camouflaged it is. If I had not seen it enter the shallows of the river, I would not have known it had even been there. It is a frightening thought, but causes the adrenaline to pulse through my veins rapidly. Adrenaline is good, my boss always tells me. My boss is always right.

I have been here for hours now and my knees are weary from crouching in the same position for so long. Is my animal ever going to show up? Maybe my colleagues have returned to the camp. Maybe they have already found my animal, and killed him. But I still have faith, and I will not return to my boss empty-handed this time. I do not want to end up with another scar.

It’s late. Very late. The thick, moist air around me seems to have been replaced by bitterly cold draughts. Goosebumps rise all over my skin.  I am determined to not give up, and will stay here until my unsuspecting friend comes by for a swim. There is a low growl, and I hear movement. A weight pushing through the tall grass, swaying from side to side. He is relaxed; he knows it is night time, he thinks he is safe. But I’m here. I raise my rifle slowly, very slowly. My friend pads down the river bank nonchalantly. There is nothing to fear, he thinks. He is beautiful. His golden eyes are piercing; they glitter like two perfectly round pieces of gold rock. I see his perfect silhouette in the darkness of the night. His shoulder blades move up in turn as he pushes his weight forward onto each leg. I hear the sound of his tongue, skimming over the calmer shallows of the water, as he takes his last drink. Sluggishly, he slumps down on the sand bank, and leans back, his head held high in his last moments. My dying friend looks around, taking his last glimpse of his home.  My rifle is ready, and I am too. My finger hovers over the trigger. My breathing sharpens and my heart hammers against my ribcage. The bullet is struggling to get out, impatient and agitated. And I let go. It is quick. Barely a second. Right in the neck. It’s fatal. My poor friend falls back onto the wet ground. Water laps under his handsome body. The water does not bother him anymore though. I hop down from the branch, tears pricking in my eyes. My friend is weak and he cannot fight for his life. Right in the neck, my boss will be proud. I crouch beside him, and tenderly put my hand on his paw. My friend is intelligent, he knows he is dying.

“I’m sorry,’ I whisper to him, my tears falling, one by one.

His eyes roll back in their sockets. He is slipping away from me. The pieces of gold rock have disappeared.

“You will be with God.”

He can still hear me, I hope. His chest rises and falls, he hasn’t left me yet. Not yet. I sink my fingers into his soft fur. The rising and falling of his chest is slowing down. Too slow.

“Don’t go, not yet, please.”

He takes his last breath. And my friend is gone.