By Alexander Taylor
I’m Afraid, Forrest.
I’m scared when he opens his mouth. When he looks out at the room. Sometimes he never looks at all. Just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. I could swear he bites his lip a little. Recoil from the passion shotgun he unloads on us all.
I’m scared of his words. I’m moved by them. What other creature on this earth would have thought to track down our hometown friends? To quote them. One by one. Finding what they have to say about us. Often what they had never said to us. What other creature? Who would do that?
I’m scared of that part of him. I recognise that part and probably buried it long ago. I don’t trust people who show their emotions readily. The sentimental is often a lie. But Forrest makes no shout. No harsh oratorial. Machen Sie die Lüge groß, machen Sie sie einfach, sagen Sie sie immer wieder, und schließlich werden sie es glauben.
He appears to me in my dreams.
I awake to the old familiar loss of control. Sleep paralysed I walk in my mind to the French window. Pull it back and put my face to the cool air of night in London. A city glowing with life and death. I am a mere spectator in its cosmic glow. Atoms reverberate and smash into each other for what seems like a minute. And we’re gone. This life is fragile. Frail. Confused.
His hands approach my waist as his kisses plant on my neck. I’m afraid I whisper to him. I know he whispers back. I feel the soft nuzzle of his cheek. I want to close my eyes and feel it. Really feel it. Like I’m living for the first time. But I’m not. I’m afraid. I’m sick and afraid of it all. What happens to us when we go? What happens to us now? And most importantly what has happened?
Was SCA a dream? I ask him. No he breaths down near my collarbone. Followed by another kiss. My shoulder this time. It was real. And it will always be. Just as I am. Just as we are. Take my hand.
And I do. I take his hand and he turns me slowly. His eyes are luminous like the stars. Cool blue and piercing. All of a sudden I’m proud to be in this moment. To be a part of this cosmic soup with a man I barely even know. There’s only us, and SCA, now. Us and SCA.
He moves closer. My heartbeat joins with his.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Ba-doom. Boom. Ba-doom.
The copy scores 93.7 in the Flesch Reading Ease test
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