memory lane

Islands

There's a scraping, he is, a scraping away, I can hear it, I can see him, scraping. He thinks, I have never been so awake. I have never been so aware. The pale girl is staring at him as he scrapes at his plate with the blunted cutlery. She says, “I think something bad happened here.” But it doesn't feel that way to him, it can't do, must not do - this sensation, this miracle awakening. That's all he has to hold onto.

That's in the kitchen, if it is a kitchen. Somewhere else there is a garden of sorts,, a neglected scrub of green at least, and there are cliffs, a wide lake. Sitting by the edge she says the same thing again.

“No,” says the old man. “I don't know about that...”

( Read more... )