17 2012

full; my mind races and I can take no more. I limp into the icy kitchen and reach for the creamy, bone-painted cupboards. I reach upwards, ever upwards into the yellow, chipped basket. Depress and turn. Open and swallow. I limp once again but this time upstairs into the sickly, lukewarm bath; from here a decrepit window pattered by rain reveals the monotony of the urban landscape, brick followed by brick. The nauseous, chilling water barely covers my waist and laps at the enamel as I reach for the grey soap. I wash my shoulders, my chest, and my arms. Now my skin is tinged with a faded blue. A thick purple scar, crescent moon in shape, runs across my abdomen, rippled and jagged.Goosebumps rise slowly over my tired neck. Sirens wail as my fingers run across my taut scalp. They now leap from the road and over the wooden stile onto the flinty track leading alongside the rippling, trickling stream. The air is cool and serene. The boy stops with his dog sitting neatly at his side; he reaches down and pulls the chain from his companion’s head.The dog leaps from his seat and tears through the dense blooming thicket. The boy slings his leather lead over his shoulder and continues to follow the path, his hard shoes crunching ever faster. He carries his head high, drawing in deep draughts of mountain air, and his carriage is fluid.The dog races across the land, his fervent, moist nose low, seeking the scent of the elusive quarry and, upon finding it, stops abruptly. My cheek, lying on damp concrete speckled with stains of grey gum, is cold. Metallic, sterile handcuffs grasp my wrists solidly.Awave of blue light spans across the pavement, picking at pools of muddy, soiled water; illuminating them for a brief second, this wave reaches its crest and breaks on the deep- treaded, dark tyre. It then continues until gloved hands grasp my tensioned elbows and lift me from this stony mattress. I am detached, and the next mattress is six foot by three, overlaid with a thin rubber sheet.The brickwork is grey and scratched

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