Troubles
1998
I loved him. Without hate or fear or prejudice. Our faith was not our failing. We had faith in each other. What was faith if it did not love? We loved each other as our neighbours loved the bricks they threw at one another, the insults, the disgust. I didn't care.
But we weren't built to last. We are the children born of gunpowder graffiti on army green steel. That steel was made to last. We were fed on barbed wire dreams that still pull and tug and tear. Hate and shrapnel and plumes of twisting darkness cling to our clothes and drag us down into the smell of burning metal and petrol, choking us. It's rubber bullets, it's kids with toy guns, it's barricades and bomb scares and you're in the wrong end of town aren't you, mate? A hereditary disease. Just when did we become 'us' and 'them'?
But now it's all caught up. Tri-colours dance in angry orange fire, someone's crying, the red, the white, and the blue are burning too. The ashes are the same colour in the end. Both caught up in the flames, in the violence, dripping blood.
The day had been like any other until the stage flats seemingly exploded. Blew outwards. Now there is only silence. Silence and shimmering, twisting, dancing glass; diamond dust suspended in the air like so many stars. Then it's falling into eyes and into hearts. Grinding, piercing, hurting. The sky is falling.The vacuum lets up with no warning and suddenly there's sound again. Car alarms, someone is screaming. Thick black smoke curling, unfurling in my lungs. Choking. Ringing in my ears. And fuck, I can't see. No that's not right. I see red. All I see is red, I can feel it on my hands. Not like they saw red. This red I can taste in the blooming copper of my mouth, mixing with ash. Vile and evil.
My heart tries to take flight, but it's trapped behind ribs, barricaded. I can't breathe. Dust and ash and glass in my eyes. Flickering orange beneath my eyelids. I hear sirens. They're not fast enough. Too slow; like my breath, softly leaving like a prayer from behind my lips. My breaths are stuttering in a rosary too often repeated. This country will be the death of me. I'm gasping, but I can't help it. Somewhere, vaguely, I wonder if I still have fingers, I think I do but I can't feel them. Funny. Like cotton wool, too light, too far away. Like the sparrow in my chest.
The red feels warm. I almost smile. Such an odd feeling, floating. Pulling, tugging, coming, going, stopping, humming and. The ringing is interrupted. Someone's speaking to me, I don't know what they're saying, but I want them to be quiet. It's pulling me back into a body too still. And then it hurts. A swift pain. I know that pain. Alive. I'm alive. I am I am I am she said. Someone said. It doesn't matter now. What matters is the hurt. And it does hurt. Christ. And they don't tell you how cold it gets. Shit I'm so cold. The air is glass down my throat and in my lungs and in my head. My eyes itch. But I can feel. And that's enough I guess.
But we weren't built to last. We are the children born of gunpowder graffiti on army green steel. That steel was made to last. We were fed on barbed wire dreams that still pull and tug and tear. Hate and shrapnel and plumes of twisting darkness cling to our clothes and drag us down into the smell of burning metal and petrol, choking us. It's rubber bullets, it's kids with toy guns, it's barricades and bomb scares and you're in the wrong end of town aren't you, mate? A hereditary disease. Just when did we become 'us' and 'them'?
But now it's all caught up. Tri-colours dance in angry orange fire, someone's crying, the red, the white, and the blue are burning too. The ashes are the same colour in the end. Both caught up in the flames, in the violence, dripping blood.
The day had been like any other until the stage flats seemingly exploded. Blew outwards. Now there is only silence. Silence and shimmering, twisting, dancing glass; diamond dust suspended in the air like so many stars. Then it's falling into eyes and into hearts. Grinding, piercing, hurting. The sky is falling.The vacuum lets up with no warning and suddenly there's sound again. Car alarms, someone is screaming. Thick black smoke curling, unfurling in my lungs. Choking. Ringing in my ears. And fuck, I can't see. No that's not right. I see red. All I see is red, I can feel it on my hands. Not like they saw red. This red I can taste in the blooming copper of my mouth, mixing with ash. Vile and evil.
My heart tries to take flight, but it's trapped behind ribs, barricaded. I can't breathe. Dust and ash and glass in my eyes. Flickering orange beneath my eyelids. I hear sirens. They're not fast enough. Too slow; like my breath, softly leaving like a prayer from behind my lips. My breaths are stuttering in a rosary too often repeated. This country will be the death of me. I'm gasping, but I can't help it. Somewhere, vaguely, I wonder if I still have fingers, I think I do but I can't feel them. Funny. Like cotton wool, too light, too far away. Like the sparrow in my chest.
The red feels warm. I almost smile. Such an odd feeling, floating. Pulling, tugging, coming, going, stopping, humming and. The ringing is interrupted. Someone's speaking to me, I don't know what they're saying, but I want them to be quiet. It's pulling me back into a body too still. And then it hurts. A swift pain. I know that pain. Alive. I'm alive. I am I am I am she said. Someone said. It doesn't matter now. What matters is the hurt. And it does hurt. Christ. And they don't tell you how cold it gets. Shit I'm so cold. The air is glass down my throat and in my lungs and in my head. My eyes itch. But I can feel. And that's enough I guess.
♠ ♠ ♠
Hello! I don't know, it's been a full 3 years you guys. I wrote this five years ago, gave it some tweaks. But it's an almost intact stream of consciousness type situation from back when I was fiddling about with that sort of thing. It's a little weird, a lot different. I thought I'd post it anyway.