matchbox of an SUV has squeaked at a Private, whose maternal Sergeant beckons him back to the side of the thin black strip. Above them, lights, lights switch and fade, their colours changing like the halos of divine sentinels. ‘... now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing ...’ My hands are beginning to shake as I write, the unevenness of my handwriting surpassed only by that of the crackling sound emanating from the phone. I find myself smiling maniacally. I start to write much faster – I want to say it all before the song is knelled to a close. Excitedly, my hurried scrawl edges ever closer to the bottom of the page. A cursory glance over the edge reveals I’m not really leaving behind much of which to speak, but only because I never had much to give. I will go out with a bang and a book – The Colossus and Other Poems. My body will be found on the pavement in front of the pound shop. Perhaps the Latter- Day Sinners will be the first to respond? ‘ ... Yes; it was my way. ’ a local vendor of the cheapest joys. ‘... if not himself, then he has naught ...’
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