Last night I was an unassuming character, I don’t even know my name and I saw no mirrors.
Invited into a family home I saw the mother on a meat slicer, like hell, constantly being sliced and forever zipping back together, screaming for mercy while father did the taxes or read the paper or smoked.
The daughter rode a plastic toy car outside and begged me to release mother, who only came out for respectable dinners or meetings with the father’s colleagues.
Without the means or the strength to act, I left things as they were and went to the father’s place of work.
I found a culture of silence and built on disturbing risk. Most of the employees had something viciously wrong and the world was strange and liquid and changed depending on the viewer’s mood.
On the bus back, I saw a boy (I was no longer anyone, just a floating observer).
Something was wrong was his friend, something had been lost. So he threw him out the back window with a tearful swiftness.
The world changed around us as he thought about what he’d done.
Memories they’d had materialised in the clashing colours of the sky.
The love unsung he’d harboured for him, flaunted in the giant bananas that were strung up from somewhere as they came together to form hearts, and their favourite burgers were sun-blockingly huge above the orange landscape.
Just before I woke up, the boy was trying to soothe himself but failing, and his eyes flickered like flies. He said “Remember, there’s no god.” out loud, as if that made any difference.