BTC 4: Screaming into the void

Minutes past the door and the enduring silence of the day never stops to pause. Sweating down to a wire of perspiration, a ticket on the forehead keeps for at least three hours. People passing in the street and the few people bustling in feathers onto the carpet look. Look and step back with a question or two.

Void. Statement on the face in backward black against the reflection of the counter top. Perfectly soaking up the sweat and sticking straight into the slithers and cracks. Beyond the pain and twitch, a result that leaves deathly dry a patch of two fat squares above the eyes.

Silence from the start and well into truncated hours of the day. Chances to doze off not found with an alert mind picking apart fragments of speech and discourse. Chances instead on fine random readings from across the seas and shelves.

Soon Van

Sunday, 25 December 2005 - 13:58

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Previous entries on Occupied

• BTC 3: Cracking gloves of stone
• BTC 2: Rifling through diamonds
• Behind the Counter 1: Calm before the storm
• HMAS 6: Brought back on a bender
• HMAS 5: Gelatinous time modules
• HMAS 4: Running on empty

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