Follow me

We walk with Abandon, we travel with Neglect and hold hands with Abdication. Desertion waits for us, the fork in the road is highlighted by his form and Forsake lingers behind. Relinquish takes a sip from the stream before he joins, broken trees bow to Rejection and Renouce and the party-pace quickens. We do not meet each others eyes, fear for them what lies in mine and fear for I for what might be found. Stop halts us there, at the fork and the last figure enters.

Guilt holds out a hand and a smile, teeth crooked, he beckons: follow me...

Lens

My eyes are lenses and the world is distorted through them. Each moment is collected, archived by my retinas and sent down the nerve into my brain. Once there they settle and carve out houses in the grey matter. And wait.

Wasteland

Everything is white, the fields, the roads, the pathways, the sky. Everything is covered in the pure absence of colour. Nothing stirs, nothing disturbs the peace that is found there. Only the clouds roam above, their faces staring down at the sleeping wastelands below.

She sails foward, arms outstretched, pulling her cloak behind her. Her flight is as silent as the world below, her cheeks are rosy and her breath clouds the air but she is cold. Her hair flies behind, brittle as ice and her skin glistens, the moisture it may have once had gone. Her pure white eyes stare down at her creation, her season, her time and she smiles a wry smile.

In years past people had asked, begged and prayed for her to bless them with the tiny flakes of her dominion but she had not relented. She could not. But as she sat in her throne, resting between that last rule and this she had heard the other seasons plotting, warming and pushing her out. They were all so different, so separate from her, they all wanted the warmth, they wanted colours and she was neither of those.

There was nothing she could do but wait. She could not act while another was in power. The months seemed to her like years as her plan formulated, wound itself around her fragile senses until there was nothing else and ebbed away at her. Then the time came. Her time, and she leapt from her throne with a mighty cry. To those below it sounded like nothing but the whistling of the wind.

She cast her eyes on the other seasons, her smile moving to light her cold face, and she remained there for a few moments, allowing them to look upon her and think about what they had done. She said nothing as she left them and began her descent, throwing her vast cloak upon the world until everything was covered and no one moved. No one could. So cold was the world that nothing could break through the white, nothing could cry out to the other seasons and even if it could they would not be able to answer.

Her work was done, her frozen dominion created and the others looked on, powerless, as they watched the world suffocate under the cloak of their sister. There was nothing they could do.

Winter rose up and returned to her thrown, looking down upon her wasteland with a sick sense of triumph. This was her prize. This was her place. It always would be. Cloaked in the cold, pure white absence of colour.

Treaty

Pertaining to the events on the morning of November 26th in the year 2010 and the disappearance of Cedric.

It was weeks since the treaty was written and signed by both parties, the bigger inhabitant laid down specific rules for her tiny room-guest and he obeyed them diligently. Cedric was amiable in nature and as far as I could tell he did not have a like of trouble. He kept to himself mostly, only venturing out into the open to say the odd hello before scurrying back to whatever hidey-hole he had picked out. I saw him a few times daily. He wasn't a big talker, he much preferred to let me fill the silences with stories of my day and sometimes leant an ear to my complaints. We lived in harmony with neither insulting the other and neither breaking the treaty.

The treaty was as follows:

Any guest should feel welcome to stay any length of time s/he wishes so long as they respect the wishes of the present occupier. Guests should stay off of the floor and away from any of the occupier's extremities, guests should also stay away from the sleeping area of the occupier and not hang in mid-air as it is both dangerous and unnerving. Respect should always be given to the occupier and any other guests that may be present, as such no guest should mock, irritate or consume any other guest, no guest should bully or threaten any other guest and guests should always obey the occupier. Failure to comply with these requests will result in expulsion and exile, as decreed by the court of the occupier, fair trial will be given on most circumstances. However, should the occupier suspect any gross rule breakage and ill-intent she retains the right to exile without trial.

The weeks passed without event until the morning of November 26th 2010. Upon waking I went to the bathroom to have a shower, when I returned to my room I did not think to look up at the ceiling and so was not aware that I had two potentially new room guests. I discovered them when getting dressed - after pulling a t-shirt over my head I noticed a dark, blurred shape in front of my face and after some squinting (I was not wearing my glasses) I discovered, to my horror, that it was another room guest much larger than Cedric in breach of the treaty. I named it, for the purposes of simplicity, Not-Cedric 1. From that moment I knew that something wasn't right and scrambled for my glasses.

On the ceiling was the other potentially new guest, slightly smaller than the first, who I named Not-Cedric 2. As this was the first time I had seen them I presumed that they had not been informed of the treaty and so explained the terms, letting them off for the time being, and went back to my business for a few seconds. I lifted my eyes once more to the ceiling to find that Not-Cedric 2 had disappeared. I looked about the room, in each and every corner and couldn't find him anywhere. I knew he couldn't move very fast because he had been moving when I first spotted him. It was this search that lead me to discover that Cedric, himself, was also missing.

It was then that I approached Not-Cedric 1, who seemed to have a look about him that reeked evil. He ignored my every question and simply moved to and fro and danced mockingly on the ceiling. At one point he decided to practise his acrobatics, which were mediocre, I think. It was not until I was drying my hair, and keeping one keen eye on Not-Cedric 1, that a thought struck me: he had eaten Not-Cedric 2 when my back was turned and it wouldn't surprise me if they had both eaten Cedric while I showered. Not-Cedric 1 was certainly bigger than Cedric and certainly could have been quite the bully. But he did not scare me.

I endeavoured to give him a fair trial despite his complete and utter disregard for my wishes; the trial was long and he spent most of it ignoring me and moving through my room without, it seemed, a care in the world. The event that I now speak of was the final straw, the final note, the deciding factor in the trial, which lead to the trial being thrown aside for more extreme measures: he slowly began lowering himself towards my pillow. I tried to warn him, I tried to tell him not to but he did not listen. And that was how Not-Cedric 1 was exiled from my room.

I have no doubt that he will be back, trying once more to breathe a breath of anarchy into my room. His crimes should have condemned him to death but being the affable host that I am I do not believe in killing guests even if they do break my treaty. If/when he returns ... I will be ready for him.

Signed,
KeyChild.

Bottlecap

The blue looks like a potion, some spell, between my fingers. The glass is cold and the liquid shines. Twisting the tin cap, the bottle is relieved of its hat. They put messages inside these caps, some small uplifting words to make your day brighter or to make you buy more in the hopes that you'll get another.

I sip the sweet bubblegum taste as the cap sits, curled, in my palm. It tastes familiar and yet better all at once, I am reminded. Mouth wash. Braces. 6 months. Off. I smile. I had been looking for this flavour.

My fingertips trace the edges as I move the cap in my hand, pulling it into my eyeline. The blue winks up at me. I smile again.

She's sat in the next chair over, her hair is falling into her face as she talks of success. I grin and she responds with expected confusion. It knew. I read the words aloud, she takes them in, understands and smiles bright.

Your life will be filled with sunshine.

Yes. Yes, it will.

Detail

The image is crisp, precise, delicate and I hold it with care. It has been a long time since colours last looked so vivid, alive and the light accentuated the intricate edges and patterns of each small surface. I look upon the world with new eyes. Glossy, glass, framed in a transluscent lilac.

Waiting Room

There's barely anyone here as I wait and the sky applauds the rain outside. I watch it from my seat, here, by the window. Pathetic Fallacy, they call it. Pathetic.

They've started to turn the lights off and everything is slowly falling into shadows, heightened by the storm clouds outside. People come and go, never talking to anyone else. Except that one. He's strange, the one to my left, he's talking to himself and everyone else and he keeps dropping the phone in his hand as if unaware that it is there at all.

He wasn't alone when he entered, the other left his side and is yet to leave the bathroom. They look like the kind of people you stay away from but want to watch to see what they'll do and how. They have a danger about them that you can't tear away from.

"Who is it this time?" His too loud voice makes me jump, I glance towards him but quickly look away.

"Christine, the grey haired lady."

"Oh, I like her. She's good. She doesn't hurt me."

The receptionist laughs, it's a nervous sound that resonates through the room. I don't move until they call my name.

Room five.

Wired

Wires, born from a small black box with two blinking lights like eyes, slithered up and attached themselves to my skin. And when a button was pressed it would call out in shrill tones, wait for some minutes and call out once more. This thing, this machine, this parasite stuck, remained, held tightly before time bade me pull it free and send it back from whence it came.

It left a residue, then a mark. A mark still pasted to my skin, an off colouring. A claim.

The Write Ways

A fresh page, a seed, a cake mixture waiting to be cooked; another project barely started. It is new, it has no smell of its own, only that generic smell that comes with newness. It will grow into its own in time. It twitches lightly, wanting to move, wanting to live, to breathe life into something greater than itself.

And it will.

The Write Ways

Smile

It's strange, the things we realise. The things we need, want, don't want, will happen, won't happen. We worry, tapping our fingers and twisting our thumbs as the thoughts whistle around our heads and scratch at the surface. And in one moment...

It all goes away.

With the help of nothing but a smile.

Bruises

My legs are bruised and my hands are bruised. I can feel them even before they're there painting my skin.

And it's ugly.

The colours are sickly and they eat away at the lily-white around them. They are poison and they hurt.

Concrete

The steps rise to meet me, taking me by the hand and embracing me with such force that I utter a sharp gasp and clench my fists. My eyes stay wide as I still and remain there for a few moments. Moving away is harder than it should be. Dragging myself up and over to the wall, I sit there, breathless and clawing at the bricks.

I look to the sky and a cry escapes my mouth.

Facial Bookcase

It's handy, having this bookcase in the corner of my room where I keep all of your faces. Each and every one of you grins up at me, right at my fingertips. I don't even need to leave this room with all of the company I need, right here, on the shelves.

But I don't touch you, your faces, staring back at me, would grimace at a touch and a pull from your place on your shelf. It is forbidden.

I don't need to touch or to hear, not with my bookcase stood mightily, over there. All I need is to catch sight of the right face at the right time and everything is right - no need to talk. You tell me things, each one of you, with your unchanging faces and I know it's true because it is there, laying before my eyes. Seeing is believing.

Without my shelves and your faces I would be completely disconnected, cut from the interaction. It is such craved interaction that everyone is here, everyone of you, staring at me from the bookcase.

My face creases into a smile and you all smile back as I sit here, staring at you as you stare at me. We're so together, connected. We never need to leave this room.

Smoke

Each voice is loud and each conversation drifts in and out of not-so attentive ears - it is the eyes that are captivated, roaming the fence-bound land in front, picking up specks of a forbidden language. A hand brushes, eyes sweep and linger, backs turn and shoulders hunch. Their voices are piercing but their actions deafen. Each one of them a world of reaction and a husky whisper in a foreign tongue. In their pairs, they make a universe, full of words unsaid through tongue and lips. For hours, they could be watched and catalogued, each movement, each subtle wave of feeling placed in the pages of an empty book - though it would be full within minutes.

They stop. Heads turn in one direction and there is unity for a moment -

It's bright, so bright that their faces glow and their eyes reflect an off colour, an inhuman colour. It starts small, then grows with the breaking of wood and the ripping of unread newspapers. Language is lost and all falls silent as eyes focus and stare, nothing moves but the curling of the flames.

But with each stare, a different whisper comes, growing louder as the smoke makes circles in the air and the floating black of burnt paper spirals upwards with the wind. The bodies shift away from the light as it licks towards them, begging and pleading for them to come closer. But they know to step back, every movement mutters a tense curse - some so loud they're shouting.

But they do not hear it with their ears, they just stand and watch the smoke as it mates with the air. Unaware of their screaming, their yelling in the language only the eyes can decipher.

Their eyes stare at the light, reflecting an inhuman colour and the smoke drifts.

Summer

The shine pools in through the window warming bare shoulders and gently caressing a brighter mood. Everything feels better in the sunshine. The hills roll in the distance, like painted clouds, fallen and anchored to the ground.

From the old weather-worn and warped windows miles can be seen, the sleepy villages bedded on the hillside waking with the sunlight and the heat and playing beneath the cloudless blue.

And as the sun begins its slow descent beneath the horizon, the trees sway, dancing to the tune of the birds.

Mine

It's late. It's always late when I decide to twitch my mind towards this chequered background and these winding words. Even with absences it still feels like home - there is a place here, a place connected to my founding organ. The link pulses with every beat, strengthening and binding itself. It cannot be broken. I sit in different places, different homes, different minds sometimes but it remains, here, safe, same.

As I am in transition, between two places and another, it waits. It is kind, forgiving. There is no ill, no abandonment. It is mine and I am its.

It waits here, a constant friend, ready at any hour. It's always late when I decide to come here but it's always waiting for me. Listening.

Cacti

One day it will be all filled with cacti, tall and thin and up to the sky. If you could see the sky. Each visit, there is a new one in a pot on the floor. It feels exotic, though it is everything but. A smile, a soft accent, a new word. Cockahoop. It feels a lot like another home.

Frequency

It does weird things to my head, this song. My ear seems to hone in to something that shouldn't be there. Perhaps, it is a message, a hidden frequency meant for only those who are in tune with it, with the sound.

Long shadows lure you in...

It is neither pleasant nor unpleasant but no instrument nor voice could make it. My ears strain each time they try to hear, as if it isn't there and it's only my imagination. And what if it is?

The more you look the less you see...

Pursed lips and a furrowed brow, face like a raisin lacking in colour - what a picture. But it's still there, that sound.

So close your eyes and start to breathe...

Ah! The song alters, slips into its ending with a change - the sound is gone. The hidden frequency. And I'm in tune.

Friendship

Fast friends, that's what you could call us. There was a certain pull that drew me to you, I needed to come to you. And I did. You were always so accommodating that I couldn't help but stagger back to you. You opened yourself to me and I you. You didn't care how my hair looked or that I wasn't properly dressed, you just waited. You're loyal - I can't imagine you being so with anyone else but I know you could, your kindness is boundless. You ask for nothing but I know I must pay you back some how, you don't refuse me when I do, you just wait until I'm finished. I can't help but feel you smile afterwards, you appreciate everything. You're truly self-less. A true, loyal, ever-giving friend. Cherished and loved.

It's a shame you're a sink.

Mirrors

I stole your face and put it on the mirror. It was the only way, the only way I could keep you. But now, every time I try to see myself, your face engulfs mine and fixes itself in that knowing expression. I try to tell you that it couldn't be helped, that I had to. But you don't listen. Your face stays and stares and I can't look at it anymore.

I covered them all, every single one. Even the windows. Just so you can't get to me. I know you want to. But I won't let you. I should never have taken your face and now you punish me, you follow my steps and giggle at my wandering thoughts.

You're still there. Even though I put the rest of you far away, I hid you. But still, you come at me, without your face. I point you to the mirror. But you can't see it. You have no eyes.

I suppose you just want to be with your face, on the mirror. So I'll put you up there. Piece by piece.