The Wish

I found this old draft that I’d never published so here it is now, reblogged.

Postcard from a Pigeon

I wish I wasn’t where I am,

because to be there means I know
what I’ve always denied,
that there’s a thought inside me
that fights to get outside.
I don’t recall writing this
but memory’s such a tragedy,
a wretched thought,
of forlorn and unhappy incidents,
best forgotten.

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Declamatory, they complained , assuming they referred to how I said it, but the substance, I admit, was unrelentingly derogatory.  but no one could prove it. But then, everyone knew the background. So sue me, he said. The girl was raped. She know her victim. Her bloody knickers were in his pocket.


She felt a tremor of excitement, a frisson of anticipation. It all came down to this. Everything was arranged, there was no turning back. The other participants in this, what she called 'a Gothic drama', may be secured with zip locks and gags but for her, it was a collaboration. Image source: Wallpaper Abyss


When he gets to the window, after standing in line for 40 minutes, he presents his documents with a smile, reading hope and relief. The person on the other side smiles too, then sends him to Hatch 42. Forty minutes later, 42 sends him to 24. It dawns on him, he's in a maze.