jolie memphis

droom

I went to sea with Suzanne last Sunday. her family has this boat for sailing, so we took a picnic. they left me in the shed to change into something warmer. it was a grey kind of day-dreary, boring and nothing special-that's what her mother had said at breakfast, rolling eggs around on the cold marble surface to release them from their shell. mother, Suzanne had replied.

at the beach, the wind was relentless. I struggled into Suzanne's clothes, eventually giving in to the falling forward, into an almost endless void. I woke up on a largely wet patch of sand, my body growing rapidly. that moment when you're too big for your shoes....my tongue stuck like flypaper to the tin roof, fingernails bursting from my skin in a bloody mess...my body now barely fit in the small shed space. oh, and at the end of it all I just sighed. Suzanne opened the door and smiled, a pale amber, or perhaps golden liquid dripping from her hair. take my hand. she approached, holding out hers. when our skin connected, I felt a dizzying sickness deep in my bones, as if my blood has turned to air and filled my body with nothing but, nothing. I awoke in the shed once again, Suzanne cradling me close, like a newborn baby, going as far as stroking the sweat off my brow. in the wall, there was a pulsing, reverberating gap, a gaping jaw of blackness-as if the shed had a heart- a beating and living thing. from the gap came a sharp symphony of noise, not too dissimilar to the sound of a ball.

Suzanne led me over to the gap, that pale opaque liquid seeping into my skin-honey, I realised. she leaned in close, voice warm and soft, the scent of aniseed on her breath. you can be anyone you want, she whispered. I closed my eyes. who are you gonna be?