Sunday, 16 June 2019

Write-In 2019: 'Schism' by Mileva Anastasiadou

“I can’t see anything,” you yelled. “Neither can I,” I confessed. I think you realized my terror because you squeezed my hand. I must have left your hand abruptly and turned. In an attempt to gain back composure, I took a deep breath that sounded like a sigh. You held me close and kissed me, without giving me time to react. My contempt for you grew stronger, as your immaturity shone through. I unwillingly let myself enjoy your touch, until the sun shone above our heads. Those sun rays lighting the scene were the last sparks of a love doomed to end soon. Relieved, I held your hand and we moved on.

“I can’t see anything”, I said. “Neither can I,” you told me tenderly to appease my fear, although I was mostly excited, not scared. I squeezed your hand in joy. Your hand was wet and sweaty and I realized that finally the universe conspired to leave us all alone on earth. You let go of my hand and turned my way. Your sigh was soft and tender. I fell all over you, as if a huge invisible magnet pulled me to your side. That was a long and tender kiss, a prologue to a lifetime of togetherness. The fog dissolved in a few minutes, as you took my hand and held it gently into yours under the bright sunlight. We moved on without uttering a word.

Now they can’t see. Now they’re two figures, trapped in a foggy forest, trapped in their thoughts. People have thoughts. They touch, then take their distance and touch again. One wrong step and I’ll bite. My bite is poisonous, yet unintended. For snakes don’t think. Snakes do not write stories inspired by Tool’s songs. Snakes only wish to not be disturbed.

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