The smallest thing was yellow and hunched over. I couldn’t see it very well as it was behind the other three things. The things all looked similar – like weird, organic Russian dolls that might, if scooped out, fit inside each other. Arm inside arm,
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It was the singing and dancing that attracted me at first. I’d only seen humans having fun on a couple of occasions before but I instantly recognised it for what it was. The assembled group were wearing clothes that were, I assumed, smarter than their
“Ooooooh — Oh! My heart Has been ripped out of my empty chest With force Oh yes – your force! My heart My poor heart. Your hand. On my heart. Grasping! And then you take it And put it In your box Your box of
Gone Boots. That’s what I call them: my Gone Boots. When I put them on, I’m gone. The boots remain. It’s a handy trick. I bought them from a travelling lady back home when I was in my early twenties. She refused to sell them
Contented, they both looked up at the night sky. ‘I can see a horse,’ she said. ‘Yes, and a man sitting atop it,’ he said, eager to play along. ‘And another man.’ ‘Not on a horse. Standing.’ ‘Carrying a club or an axe or something.’
I turned 35 this week. I know. Because I’m me. The worst present I recieved was a gypsy curse which stopped me from remembering the ‘i before e except after c’ rule. Which will really damage my career as a writer. That and my writing.