First published online for the RUSSH 2024 Literary Showcase
Lost in the echo between beats. Silence pulsating, pounding
the inner ears. We linger in this rhythmic pause, automatic
anatomic, inhospitable to patience. Marshmallow
walls stare blankly, sickly sticky primed
to dissolve me as we sink into the sea
of chairs, weighted with anticipation
peeling from vinyl concaved by a longer than
intended stay. Collectively pretending we don’t hear
the whispered sobs, the frantic calls, that pierce the antiseptic
air like acid rain, smothering mumbled sitcom repeats. Give them
a sense of normalcy, a distraction. Give them company. Give them
incessant instrumental music that itch nerves already frayed. We
fidget with the ache of stagnation, arms crossed comforting
the lonely. Chins drooped gazing at phones, at floors,
at shoes; work boots, high tops, Jimmy Choos.
Lined up, like we have our ducks in a row
when we all know if you’re here
your ducks have flown the coop.
Flickering fluorescents hum
filtering mirages through floaters
as we count tiles, trace lines, re-tracing
steps of masked figures through a labyrinth of
unmarked doors. Recirculating breath breeds hunger for
uncontaminated air, misleading the parched. I can fast no longer.
I compartmentalise, dislocating myself into parts, expanding my
reach until my fingertips graze the corner of this page in hopes
to one day turn it myself. The chapter would read:
the before. Before what, I’m still unsure.