by James Blindell
A wary kiss received. Tell her I love her and be told I’m loved. Mouths betrayed by eyes. The walk to work. Press! A simple stroll, through the park and down the shuttered high street. Five minutes max if I follow the path. Anyone could do it.
There’s the door. It knew I was coming. Closed by regulation, but open to those who leave reason outside. Heartbeat and breaths lock into a race. This is it: remember the talk; remember her; fuck it, remember me. Just don’t go in.
I’m in. Quick nod to the girl. Pitiful smile received. Avoid eyes. We’re familiar, of course. Sit down for the emptying. Field of vision narrows; focussed yet somehow absent. Notes go in. Press. Lights blaze and sounds blast. Horus smiles alone. A big win, but wins aren’t felt anymore. They’re just part of the path.
Press. Lose. Press. Lose some more.
Tap card for concerned girl and get cash. Poor her, must be torn by an urge to care and the need to provide. Sit down again quickly lest reason returns. More presses. More lights and more sounds. More losses. But losses aren’t felt either, only weary acceptance.
That’s it; it’s all gone. Well done me! Path followed. Ears begin to ring; my world rushes violently back. Rent due soon. Secret loan repayment, too. Three more supermarket shops to evade. What now? Mum and dad? Another lie to Sam? The work kitty box? Jesus.
No nod to the girl this time and out the door. No work, I think. No home either. What would I say? A mind left will-less, a spirit hollowed, and an account bereft. Step off the pavement, no need to look. Just keep following the path. Lights blaze and sounds blast.
James started writing to occasionally escape childcare and pretend to his wife that he is a well-rounded individual. He is enjoying the process of sorting through his thoughts.
