The Incurable Affliction
I’m afloat in the pale, red reverie that separates dreams from daylight. Evading the daily rebirth into sameness, it is in this undecided delirium that I thumb through the pages of my life. And as I do, clarity cuts me deeper than the papercuts. It burrows beneath my skin and gnaws on my bones. Then it ties my tongue and siezes my vision, before stealthily settling into the depths of my soul like a cold, calculating creature of the sea. I must lure it out and spear it right through the heart. For that, these words must cut deeper. But as the pages flail and flutter, the sentences seem to be struggling to drag themselves home. The words hang on as long as they can, before collapsing under the weight of the author’s ineptitude. Before I’m drawn back into a slumber, I pry my eyes open. The unremarkable glow of this early winter morning is meekly attempting to colour the walls of the room. A familiar cooing belts out from the niche underneath the window, where a pig...