The Work

The boiler sounded like a lung collapsing.

My mouth was dry and the headache pulsed around my skull. I looked out in the darkness and back to my phone.

10:39am. No bars.

Just the orange glow of the street light. I caught a glimpse of myself; the surface of the mirror shifted. The colours bled out.

I took a breath.

I pulled the curtains, heard the low hum of the street light. I watched a bird fly from the trees. Like a getaway, upwards till it fell.

The empty thud as it made contact with the concrete.

I backed away from the window. Sweat dripped down my back. Scrambling to unlock the door.

It stuck.

Until finally I was out to the street.

Silent, empty houses.
Sale signs.

One street light went out and the next one went on. I ran along the street and they lit up.

I took a deep breath and I ran. Down the path and into the cemetery, dead flowers and photographs.

And here, a new grave. The earth piled high.

I saw a fox move between the rows. The grave was just mud and earth. I picked up the dirt and held it in my hands. Looked up to an empty sky.

The noise in my head growing. I got up.

Over the old railway track, there was a car parked in the middle of the road, doors open. I ran to the shore, right to the water’s edge.

My hands went down to the water. I looked down.

My hands were blue.

I saw smoke rising along the beach. There was a figure.

I thought of the mirror.

He said, “You’re late, did you forget again?”

It started to rain, it painted us blue.

He pushed me away as he disappeared.

I turned and ran.

Past the car, the cemetery, but I kept moving.

The street lights followed me back, or I followed them.

In through the front door.

Wheezing.

I wrote.

The dawn broke outside my window.