There was a thing on the wall, twitching, clicking. One tick every second, a chime upon the hour. In this way it consumed my life.
I begged it to stop, but it would not stop.
- Written on December 13th, 2018
- This isn’t very good
- For which I’m sorry
- But I’m trying to work out how to use wordpress’s terrible new post editor
- Things I have discovered are that you can’t write a list like this without it autoconverting it to an indented list
- Even though I don’t want it indented
- At all
- God help us all from helpful algorithms
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I woke up in the middle of the night and there was this skeleton outside, tapping at my window, tapping and tapping incessantly with its long bony finger while the rest of its entirely improbable being just stood there motionless, its feet in mother’s fuschias, each bone held perfectly in place by whatever force it is that maintains their coherence, the whole spectre stained red as blood under the streetlights’ glare.
I tapped back and it tapped back and then it tapped some more and then some more and went on tapping for quite some time.
It was fairly annoying.
It was 3 am.
I tapped back again to see if it would stop but it didn’t stop and I wondered if it was all some Poe-esque torture designed to make me collapse to me knees and confess my sins, but in the end I decided it probably wasn’t, and that it was more likely that, considering the skeleton had no eyes or eardrums or even a brain, it simply hadn’t heard me or seen me or perceived my existence in any way at all. Or at least not in anyway I could understand.
Also I didn’t have any sins to confess, except I suppose for the sin of gluttony, but I’m not sure that’s even really considered a sin anymore, rather than the necessary duty of every citizen, for if we don’t do all we can to maintain the steady expansion of the capitalist balloon on and on for ever and ever without end until even the infinite has been consumed then where would be? In some arid post-apocalyptic tesco-less waste land, no doubt, like I’d always dreamt about, like I’d always wanted, staggering about all alone under a wan unblemished sky.
Maybe that is my sin.
Maybe this is my confession.
The skeleton tapped on and on. I went back to bed and dreamt of clocks and death.
1. This was written on the 26th June, 2018
2. It’s been hot this week and I cannot sleep__________
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