A moment

I walk walls. Dark walls. He sits in the same spot and stares at the road. Grey hair in black night. I watch as he sits. He doesn't move. I pass by. Minutes. Then return. Still he sits.

I leave. Walk my walls. Walk home. He sits.

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.

Reverie

Last night's make-up lines my face as if some southward emotion plagued me as I slept. The liquid reaction, only made evident by the black lines, makes my cheeks sticky. I raise my hand to them before moving to the sink. Cold water, fresh, livening. I don't remember my dream but I know that it didn't come unexpected.

I brush my teeth, the sick, night-old alcohol taste moving out of my mouth and into the sink with the tooth paste. It's refreshing. There are no after-affects from the vigorous liquid consumption of the night before. The only thing it had an effect on was the change in my purse and my state before I slept.

I remember vaguely what felt like walking in a dream but I know, with perfect clarity, that I was awake. But I didn't speak. Six familiar voices floated around me but I didn't join them, I simply listened while I walked, eyes starward. It was the first time that I had looked up to the ink in so long. I'd avoided the stars as best I could.

But when I looked up in my dream-like state, I saw nothing. Black ink. Cities, stars disappear in cities. An unfamiliar feeling of dread welled up in my stomach, it shouldn't be empty.

One voice pulled me from my reverie. Let's go on the wall, it's above the light and you can see the stars.

There were more steps than I'd expected and the stone barrier that would stop you from toppling off of the wall was lower. I looked up. There you are. I traced constellations with my eyes, ones that already existed and ones that I had created myself. I thought of stories, then and I was almost sure that they thought of me too. Then memories.

I tore my eyes away and looked down to the road far below. I should've been nervous, shaking. Heights. But I wasn't. My eyes moved to my hands, only now noticing how cold they were - too cold. The familiar, painful tingle swept from my tips up to my arms. My teeth ground against each other as I pushed the sensation back. The voice again, Come on, we're going.

We walked down the stairs, his arm around my shoulders and singing something that I can't remember. As we reached the bottom, we laughed and I spoke again.