Friday, 27 July 2012

Iain Chambers - One Week and a Day

I've been busy doing things of which I cannot speak. I ran with the men of stone who played till they dropped. They always come back. Little blighters. I pick up my bow and fire arrows of wrath. Then I take flight before the ambush. The noise was endless. I whispered sleep at that final moment and not one remained. We took to the night. Some noises are pins and pennies upon a stone. Some noises caught out like metal in the sand. Some noise is silence. I worry. I cannot find a vein of gold inside this rock that is not there. I worry about how to end it even though I did not start it. I worry that it will end too quickly. I’m terrified that the end will never come. I am a creature in a cave that cannot stand light. Golom. Beyond a healer’s magic. Where to throw this burden. Scatter its power. Melt it. Smelt it. Look away from the mirror. I am somebody but not too much of anybody else. The cat is sturdy but heavy and itchy. He feels the burden too. Robert de Niro in a taxi. He has decided the merits of a girl’s wishes among women and candles and men. Her will is unfounded. She must submit to his righteous attack. A noble act of violence. Wasteful yet necessary. A supervised theft. She is in view of the firing line and says naught. With permission. From some higher authority. To shoot.

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