Unicorn's wings

And if dragons ruled the air, and mermen swam in the seas,
If men flew, and shapeshifters changed from one form to another,
Would we not in time grow familiar with these things,
And wonder that there were no miracles in the world?

Gypsy Ball

... but of course, that turned out to be a lie.

Sometimes we do want to know the future; we want it now,

Not in 10 years time

  (The photos online, how wonderful everyone looked)

We want to know the ending,

  The spoiler in a good book

   So that we can cry 

   or feel empty

   or smile 

   or wish that things had been different

Just to know how we should move on, or how we should remain hopeful still...

Snakeskin

June 24th 10:42 am

I wake. The duvet is heaped around me. I smell of sweat and alcohol. My mouth is dry; my tongue feels awful. What happened last night? I get up, go into the bathroom and swill my mouth with water, splash it on my face and stare at my face in the mirror. Pale, sallow skin, bloodshot eyes. What have I become?

June 25th 11:02 am

I feel strange, like there's a bit of me missing deep inside. I think about you; what you might be doing now, where you might be. The blame is mine, I know this. How I wish I could take back time. I go back to sleep.

June 25th 11:40 am

The alarm goes and I wake suddenly. My sleep was troubled - I dreamed a dream in which naked women twisted and contorted like snakes, hairless men thrusting themselves into mouths and groins alike, and in the midst of it all the witch, dressed in black with her long crooked nose. She reminds me of the wicked witch in that old black-and-white film of the Wizard of Oz, but she looks older, more dangerous. She stares at me, always at me, as though waiting for me to do something, to say something, to make some kind of choice.

June 26th 9:04 am

The feeling of emptiness is growing. It's as though there is a hollow space in the centre of my chest, just below my heart. What did I do last night? I cannot remember anything, just that I went to bed when the Sun was beginning to lighten the sky.

June 27th 9:35 am

The hollow has grown. I can see it now - my chest has expanded around the diaphragm. I feel a pressure inside. I do not go to work.

June 28th

The witch stands in front of me, staring into my eyes. I am naked, but as I look down at my body, it seems unreal. My trunk is rounded and smooth - only the belly button stands out. There is something wrong with my genetalia - the foreskin is not there, and there is no difference between the flesh that forms the top and the shaft. There is no eye at the end of it. It looks like a putty model of what it should be, not the real thing.

The witch lifts her hand, puts one long nail up to the base of my neck, and draws the finger down my chest. The skin opens like the zipper on a jumpsuit, hanging apart like folds of flesh-coloured rubber.

I look down and see the darkness that has been growing inside me. I seem to be staring into a well of infinite depth, as though it extends into some other dimension that mankind is not yet aware of, and it is blacker than any darkness I have ever known.

But as I look, it seems as though even this darkness is not complete. At the bottom of this hole, there seems to be a spark - a single pinpoint of light so intense and complete that the darkness cannot stand its presence, fleeing from it like clouds of smoke whipped away by the wind.

I look back up. The witch has gone. I am alone in my bathroom, my chest hanging open. I look for a moment at my face in the mirror, then into the blackness once more. The spark is still there, and I allow myself to fall forwards into it.



When phone-calls from family and friends, work and the rental agency had gone unanswered for several weeks, they finally broke down the door to the flat. But he was gone, vanished without trace. The reports said that the flat had been neat and clean, everything arranged orderly and tidily, except for a thin film of dust covering most of the surfaces. There was no note, nothing to explain what had happened.

The strangest thing, however, was what the report stated was found in the bathroom. It was what appeared to be the shed skin of a giant snake, dry and crackling and paper-thin, of a species that experts from the University could not identify. It became something of a local legend, and was placed in the museum for all to marvel at, until one day the wardens of the museum entered to find it gone, and all that was left of it was a small pile of ashes in the base of the glass cabinet.

Pictures of others, framed by doorways.

There was another man half-sitting, half-crouched in the other doorway as I moved away; his face red, his hair tangled and black and manky. He wore a green coat and clutched a plastic coca-cola bottle filled with something that wasn't coca-cola. "Thank you young man", he said, "very kind."

I smiled quickly at him and began to walk away. 

"You've gotta laugh", he said as I passed him, "or life becomes...", but I missed how he ended it. He didn't really seem to be talking to me anyway, and as I glanced back at him over my shoulder, I could see that he had turned slightly, but then turned back to face back up the street, as though he had tried to face me, but his responses were running slowly, or as if time passed at a different rate for him than for the rest of the world, and he had found himself left behind in his attempt to keep facing me, and given up trying.

The Twelfth Day

And on the first day you were a newborn babe; skin wrinkled and grey, screaming for your Mama, suckling at the bright pink nipple of her swollen breast.

Later you were a toddler, bright and gay, chuckling while you were being tickled by your Aunt as she bounced you up and down on her knee. How your eyes shone; how chubby were your arms, how small and white your teeth.

On the second day you were a boy of five, wearing bright red breeches. You ran across a field near your home, climbing trees, forging streams. The planet was a world of wonder, nature sparkled with magic and adventure.

On the third day you were a teen. Spots blemished your once-perfect skin. You had your first kiss, a fumbled affair in the lift room next to the Sixth form common room.

The fourth day you were in your late twenties. Time had passed quickly. You had met Carla in University and knew that one day you wanted to marry her. She made you happy like no other; you picked flowers for her when you went to meet her in the park which she wore in her hair. She was your Elfish queen. She was your everything.

Midday on the fifth you had married and were honeymooning in the Meditteranean. It was the most you could afford for a two week break, and was all the more special for it. You drove in a convertable with the roof down along a coastal road. The wind was blowing in your hair; the sunshine glinting off the water and reflecting off Carla's sunglasses. You were smiling and laughing. You were so in love.

On the sixth day you were sitting in your front room. It was raining outside and you were crying. You had slept with another woman. You begged Carla to stay. You had made a mistake: a bitter, stupid mistake. She said nothing, but turned and walked away.

You were in Egypt. You were older now. Your youthful looks were still there, but middle age was beginning to show. You were not overweight, but your body was starting to thicken. Carla had stayed, but you never felt as though you had righted the wrong you had done her. Your guilt would stay with you until the end of your days.

The eighth day, you were driving from the hospital. Carla was sitting in the seat next to you staring out of the window. Neither of you spoke.

On the ninth day, you had begun to look your age. Carla had passed away the previous year. You were approaching your sixtieth birthday. The skin on the back of your hands seemed thinner, almost all of your hair had turned grey or white.

Where was time going? You were eighty. You felt thin.

The eleventh day, you are lying there on the hospital bed. Your breathing is ragged. Your stare up at the ceiling, although it is not clear to others whether you are awake or not. You seem more solid to me now; more substantial. I know you can feel me. Sometimes you seem to look at me, but your vision is clouded, like that of a newborn babe.

The twelfth day. I am leaning over you, my face close to yours. Your breathing is shallow, your eyes are open, but they do not see. The living is draining out of you. And as you breath your last breath and your tortured body finally lies still, I kiss your forehead. You are solid now, as real as I am.

Then you open your eyes and look into mine for the first time. You smile. And I smile too.

WiLd wITch PotioN,

sLUmbErs unTIL wOrld's eNd...

Where we start.

And then the darkness lifts,
and here I am, on a gentle green slope leading to what must be a cliff-edge
for ahead of me lies the sea. The Sun is low in the sky, light so bright that it
burns the sky around it silver-gold. White clouds stream in
its direction, like ships heading out over a vast ocean,
setting out for their destination.

I feel like I wish to join them,



but not just yet; my destination is not yet clear.


Peace,
and a sense of calm. A gentle breeze touches
my skin. The atmosphere is relaxing; the air neither too
warm nor too cool. I breathe it all in;
I feel part of it, indistinguishable from the
world around me. What will be will be.

I cannot sense you here, but I know that you are close.

The grass is soft and springy, the rocks in the ground outlined in sunlight.

Do we exist in our own right, or are we phantoms in the thoughts of others, with the potential to exist in any place and at any time, but only realised when observed (or called
into being) by the consciousness of others?

Isn't that what they say
particles are like?

If this is true, then do we exist in all states at all times? Are you simultaneously far away, and standing right behind me, about to lean over my shoulder
and whisper in my ear?
This thought gives me comfort. It is how I think of you now.
I know you will be here soon, but I am happy to wait.
What will be will be.
I smile to myself as I watch the Sun creeping slowly closer to the horizon; casting soft light over the cliff at the edge
of a beautiful sea.