its meant to be disorientating, isnt it?
- the ice cream dropped onto his shirt. the sadist loved the brain freeze. people asked him to take off his sunglasses, which he would refuse, frightened of what they would both see. dropped the cornetto on the street, watched it melt, then licked it up with his eyes doing what they usually did.
- a voice at the back of the classroom that sounded just like him, the one screaming when he pulled his hair out, then drove his car into a car wash when he tried to crash it, only to find himself in hospital the next day, a clean toyota at home. started walking in circles, called ‘senile’ an unhelpful word, he had not seen anything in awhile. the sky dripping like he always imagined it would. one drop of lucidity for every tick as he clock watched.
- high cholesterol. high definition. a tv show that explained why it looked like the clock stopped for a second. pleading why would my mind deceive me like this? hit his head on the pavement enough to forget his favourite icecream flavour, never recognising his face again. that face would always be my own.
- her neighbour is watching her eat through the windows again. she knots the spaghetti in the back of her throat , then pulls out her intestine with her fork. i am sitting in the same room, we are all cannibals. i’m not sure if i’m in the circus or the underworld. she takes her plate upstairs. i sit there, watching the neighbour watching me, contemplating the possibility of being invisible.
- he switches off the light and leaves the room. i can hear babies crying next door. my dad told me they are twins. i don’t know if i’m talking about the house or my head. the neighbour comes back and i sit there, laughing, never caught on camera.
raheela suleman, 19, writer / whirlwind / static shock / filmmaker / london’s ancient groove
Illustration by Raz (twitter).