Kelly Lawrence

No more kids, no more noise but who needs noise when we have words? What a beautiful invention, an extension of the mind. There’s smoke and it’s rising to the sky – the empty sky because clouds have swallowed the moon and the stars and light is no more, light is defined by a lamppost that is curled in upon itself away from the world and its clawing need to see.

He’s quiet and I sit next to him, not too close because he’s tense and his face is shining like a fallen tear. His hands seem to be interesting as he flexes and twists them, large eyes locked on them like they’re the only thing he has ever seen. Lost youth and unfound nostalgia – why was that so long ago? It could have been a week or maybe an hour, but why do we have to measure time?

It’s wasn’t an hour perhaps a day. An hour ago I was somewhere in my head or somewhere in a house but mummy wasn’t there.

She never is.

“Everyone say’s you’re mad.” His voice is soft and slightly bitter. I laugh because well, aren’t I? “I don’t think you are, Kelly. You’re clever, very clever. No-body understands that because... because who in this town can?” Then he chooses to laugh and it’s a symphony like mummy used to play before she found a poison of hers. In the lamp light he looks yellow and like one of those singers who make it too far and can’t turn back.

“Mad as a hatter.” I reply, gazing at the sky and at the feasting clouds.

“No.” He didn’t make sense but that was okay because a syllable has never been so meaningful in my life, or maybe it was how it rolled from his tongue, or how it was just a word.

It was just.

Just like clouds running over the sky and water doing the same for rocks and secrets – so many secrets drowned. Rivers of hope carved out in vain and left to rot.

Water can’t rot.