Monday, 1 September 2014


The creatures are nestled and sleepy and coated with bruises. The bruises pattern their pelts with all the certainty of yesterday's clouds.

In this city, it feels like summer is ending. But that's okay. It's okay, because this skin isn't fit to show the world anyhow: so purple and so private. It's okay, because tomorrow there will be a hammock and a balcony and a sunbeam. She will pluck a tomato from the vine; the girl will crush a pepper in her fist just to luxuriate in the squish.

But all this is still in tomorrow. Today, the creatures must drag themselves from the pit and attend to the blunt teeth of the day. There are bags to pack and tickets to print and a dozen messages mewling, and it's tricky. It's so tricky—the pit is right there. What if they fall inside?

Maybe they will. Maybe that's okay. Maybe falling is the simplest thing yet.

The creatures had not prepared themselves for how good the pit would feel and they have failed in all their preparations. They have not stockpiled for winter. What if the supplies run out soon?

The creatures cannot bring themselves to care.

The day mewls and the bellies growl with small, soft claws. "I need to go to work," he says. "I know," she says. They lie and watch the sky change to a grey uncertain pink.

The world is made up of so much skin and she thinks about scrambling but this thing is so simple and so sweet. Outside the pit, the world continues its ministrations. The sky continues to change.

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