A Single Moment

I was alone, my only company the acrid curl of smoke from the tip of my cigarette, when you slid into my life. There was a screech, a shudder, and suddenly you were there, your face level with mine, our aimless gazes haphazardly meeting. Even through the glass I could feel your piercing eyes switch focus to me and momentarily soften, and I saw your lips, pale and thin, crease ever so slightly upwards. I wanted so much to return the gesture, but my face was frozen, my eyes locked into yours, my own lips jammed shut. And then, the moment was gone: your eyes loosened their grip on me and wandered away, to the trees which stood behind me, brittle and stripped of their leaves, and the distant, looming spectre of encroaching clouds. My head dropped, and I felt another shudder as the train recommenced its journey, having completed its unfateful sojourn. When I looked up you were gone, the only sign you were ever here a distant wisp of smoke.

His Labyrinth

Just hang out, he says:
Sleep, chill, explore.
Walk through, crawl through, climb through,
Lose your way
In the labyrinth.

It's a breakthrough, he says,
The sort of things people will do.
Running jumping dancing,
Laughing,
In the labyrinth.

Human behaviour, he says,
Has to be tested extended challenged.
Bend down crawl and
Mind your head, they say.
It is easy to predict their limits.

I like the terror, he says.
He could hear them
Yelling screaming shouting.
It was a magic thing, he says.
People have lost their grip.

I want to give back to the people, he says.
Provoke human nature.
It's dark and disorienting;
A breakthrough; an experience; transformative; 
His labyrinth.


(Note: this is a piece of Cut-up poetry, and it is derived from this article.)

Eyes

There were many times during my childhood when my father would turn to me, with his glasses balanced near the tip of his nose and his hands wrestling nervously with each other below his chin, and try to talk to me about my mother. He always had the same look in his eyes - a look that coupled warm affection with deep, enduring sadness. It was a look too complex for my young mind to fully comprehend; a look that you can only give once you experience the tragic loss of true love.
I would always stare back at him, my simple, piercing blue eyes meeting his, which were all brown and subtle and full of the pain of living. And we would hold each other's gazes as he tried to find the words, stumbling over his sentences until those complicated eyes were blinking back uncomplicated tears, primal emotion spilling down his cheeks, and then we would turn away from each other. Him, overcome with a grief that never leaves you, that clings to you like an addiction that you can never shake. And me, frustratingly numb to it all.

The air is drier in the desert.
You can taste it
as it streams through an open window.
It roughens your breathing
and coarsens your tongue.

On most nights the stars are brighter out here,
and the light of the moon shining on the tarmac can blind you.
But not tonight;
tonight, there is no moon,
and the stars seem duller than usual.

People always drive for a reason.
They have somewhere to go,
or something to get away from.
But I have no Why.
There was a Why once but it's gone. Lost.

Something outside squeals as I hit it.
Squish it. Churn it up.
Kill it.
It's dead now but fuck it. It's gone.
It was small and weak anyway. It was stupid. Deserved it.

I pull over
to smoke and clear my head.
To try to remember where I left it.
That's when I see him on the backseat,
laying there. My Why.
Glistening.
Bloody.

I haul him out into the desert
to feed the coyotes
and satisfy their lust for flesh.
Then I'm driving again.
Alone but confident. In control.

Already I miss him,
my Why.
But fuck it.
There's more where that came from.

Because there's no moon tonight, 
and the stars seem duller than usual.
And in the pitch black twilight of a moonless night
they won't see the blood.

The Stars Seemed Duller Than Usual

Darkness fell much earlier than usual that day, as if the sun had been extinguished. There was no moon; the only light came from the pinprick stars that twinkled silently against the black canvas of the sky. Even those seemed duller than usual, Bill thought, as he swept along the narrow highway that cut through the desert like a zip through a jacket, a grey ribbon in a sea of relentless sand.

He had been driving for several hours now and he didn't know why. There was no real purpose to his journey that he could remember; it was little more than aimless meandering along empty roads. A jackrabbit darted across the highway and Bill winced at the soft bump as it disappeared under his front left tire; he felt like a murderer. He stopped the car a couple of miles up the road - far enough away from the jackrabbit that it would be invisible to him even in the light. As he pulled to a halt the engine of his ancient car spluttered, disturbing a rattlesnake that was curled up by the side of the road. It gave a disapproving hiss and slithered off into the night. He clicked the engine off, got out and looked at the sky.

There was no moon, and the stars seemed duller than usual.

Bill looked up at the sky for a long time. Trying to remember. Remember where he had come from, and where he was going, and why. But the stars had no answers for him. They simply twinkled silently, not saying a word, just pale unhelpful dots of burning hydrogen billions of miles away.

He tore his eyes away from the stars and looked back at his car. In the pitch black night it was difficult to discern its color; Bill thought it was red but he couldn't be sure. He sighed and climbed back inside, sat down in the driver's seat, and rested his muddled head against the steering wheel.

The human mind, he thought, was a funny thing. It could remember obscure and useless facts and the names of people you've only met once and birthday parties you went to thirty years ago. But it could forget what you walked into a room for. Or why you drove into the middle of the desert, on a night where there was no moon and the stars seemed duller than usual.

Bill restarted the car and checked the rear-view mirror, and suddenly he remembered where he was going. And why.

He stepped back outside, smiling faintly at his own forgetfulness. The keys stayed in the ignition; he needed the lights to stay on because it was darker than usual tonight.

He opened the door to the backseat and dragged the corpse out into the desert, to about half a mile from the road. He left it there for the coyotes to find in the morning. As he walked back to his car Bill looked up at the sky and noticed that there was no moon, and the stars seemed duller than usual.

He climbed back into the front seat and drove away.