Our blogs

Regular news and insight from our many poets, writers, educators and facilitators

17 July 2023

Posted by Aurora Wake

The 20th Of April

04/20 – It’s the end of the world.

Again.

Or something along those lines, I don’t care enough to keep up with it anymore.

 

0

There’s a fire in the corner. It’s burning, little by little, the flame a little blue through the moonlight hum and yet still unequivocally amber, burning like a gemstone. And my heart, oh, my heart – she heaves. The light flares up and I cover my eyes in a panicked daze.

It’s the morning. And the evening. The twilight hangs around me, unspoken, yet present, always. It’s on the wick of a candle and it is burning brighter than the platinum moon in her special place, scarred on her special face, burning by the hour, away. I don’t listen closely enough to care what she screams.

 

12

There is dust in my eyes. Not the kind of dust you’re thinking of and no, not that dust either. It’s the sunbeam dust that’s burning brighter than the midday scaffolding, tracks of lashed clouds that climb up into the sun’s grey smile. She laughs. She laughs. She laughs she laughs she laughs she laughs she laughs she laughs she laughs SHE LAUGHS.

The time is of no importance now. Or maybe it wasn’t an hour ago. Or maybe it won’t be in three minutes and fifty-seven seconds. Or maybe it is of no importance now. Who’s to say. I can say. Then I should. But I shant. But I could. But I won’t. Because there’s just too much at stake, you see, and the stairs are burning, they are.

 

0 (again, slightly longer this time)

It’s something like a dagger, I suppose. Depends on what you call a dagger. A blade, certainly. It’s sealed, quite safe, within my arm. At least, I think it’s my arm. If so, the fire in the corner of the room is burning again, burning again, she’s burning again and it tracks a crimson blaze up my empty ring fingers – never, the catty moon screams.

My room is burning blackness. A reverse light. It takes up the atmosphere and eats the air and eats the atmosphere and takes up the air and burns. It burns. One toe touches the carpet and the hum returns.

It was the end of the world. I think. I didn’t end, but I’m not the world, so I suppose I should stop being so self-centred. It’s just a little bit of burning down, nothing that ever hurt anyone properly. Just smile, like the sun, and you’ll be good to go.

All good to go for another year.

All good to go.

Good to go, eh?

Good to go, now, come on.

Good to go.


PreviousNext

Archive

Back to blog

What's on

Find out more

Our projects

Find out more

Our films

Watch now

Headlight Press

Find out more

Latest news

19 December 2024

Paid Opportunity for Writers: West Waterlooville

ArtfulScribe, in partnership with Studio Response and Winchester City Council, are appointing three experienced writers, who enjoy working collaboratively, to...

Read more

Our blogs

Regular news and insight from our many poets, writers, educators and facilitators

Find out more

Resources


Why not get in touch?