January 19, 2010

That fifth dimension …

I can’t decide if I am staring into space, or out of it. It seems that every moment here is so delicate that I could break myself if I were to move but a fraction of an inch. We’re all coated in the most subtle of films; gently clinging to my skin, my hair, my lips. It’s like a sickly layer of second that I am frantic to tear, shake myself clear from the claustrophobic sensation that I will never move because of this saccharine substance caressing my entire body. It gives everything a frost-like glow of temperate calm. And there’s her, sat there in the corner, in almost a Buddha like pose, which is really ironic as she’s the furthest from Buddha I’ve ever come across. With her short cropped bright red hair, almost like a cartoon character, and browning teeth that disappear into her gums, there’s little of the sympathetic in her smile. In fact, it’s not a smile, it’s a triumphant sneer. The mangled corners of her mouth twisting slyly up her cheeks, because she knows. She knows everything she needs to know, and she knows it. And she knows that I know it to. So that’s why I’m afraid to move, coated in this cloying filth that welds me in position, desperately praying that if I don’t move – perhaps she won’t notice. Perhaps she’ll forget, or stop caring so I can try to live without the paralysing dread that’s freezing my insides. But I know I’m only fooling myself, because her eyes never once leave mine. Although her face is smiling her eyes aren’t touched at all, and they focus tightly and dilated straight into mine.

“You really thought I wouldn’t know? I could tell just by the smell of him.”

Apparently it’s not just her eyes.

“Youth has such a distinctive smell, and why would he smell like that, hey? He’s not young, but you are, and you love that, right?”

I wish I could close my eyes, or bow my head or turn away, anything to get away from her assaulting stare. Her voice, with it’s stilted foreign stresses that I know he used to find charming, sounding to me as a battle cry, drawing the lines. But she also knew that she had already won.

I am naked in front of her. We are all naked when we enter, and when we leave. It’s just ironic that my nakedness is what carried me in the beginning.


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