Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: drabbles

13/Apr/2013

Sympathy

You are connected by magic to a certain object; everyone is. Something round. Most of the time it’s a rock at the bottom of the sea, sometimes it’s a jewel or a doorknob. In rare cases it’s a fossilized egg or the shell of a snail. Nobody can know, without experiment, which object is theirs. With age you get worn down from the waves rocking you back and forth. Sometimes objects just burst from pressure, and people have heart attacks. Sometimes I step on snails and feel someone die. It feels like walking into a freezer, or through a ghost.

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12/Apr/2013

Clockwork Smile

I’m a smile that smiles too wide, a frown that frowns too deep. Do you ever feel like you are made out of nothing but broken parts? Little veins that are too quick to burst, skin cells oversensitive to allergens, a pathetic mind that just takes on the characteristic of the weather you can see out through the window. And you try so much to be more than the sum of your parts, but you’re a little clockwork robot which, if wound up, falls apart. A heart that never really comes unstuck, a clenching fist that never really lets go.

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11/Apr/2013

Libido

We are starting to regret having him fixed. Sure, it’s a lot calmer round here, and it’s easier to sleep. And I can’t begin to tell you how nice it is to have him calm like this, he doesn’t break anything anymore. We can use the fine china. But he hasn’t got a raise in three years. He always carries the same harried look after work, and sometimes at night I find him staring at the wall, as if projecting an image onto it. I don’t disturb him then, but I bet if I did he wouldn’t even notice me.

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10/Apr/2013

Elephant?

There is a new installation in the tallest building in the city. It releases gas that kills artists.

There is an interactive piece of fiction encircling us – they cannot escape.

Not much has changed, except Lilah coughs now, and the graffiti does not catch my eyes anymore.

Any act of rebellion is either formulaic and easily thwarted, or creative, which kills the rebels.

I saw a black mask with huge eyes and a trunk like an elephant’s. I didn’t know what it was for. It looked like art. It was in a locked room in the Building where I work.

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9/Apr/2013

Ablach

Remember the last time you felt at home anywhere. Close your eyes if it helps. Lie down somewhere, relax, stop listening for the signs of the apocalypse. Let the blurry contours make their way through the haze of memory until they’re sharp, colourful. And remember with more than your sight, too. The scents and the ambient sounds and the sensation of a hand moving up and down your side, slowly, as if having all the time there is in the world to have. And remember the taste of the cooking, of the air, of everything.

You will be there again.

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8/Apr/2013

Shadows

And if you see me, pretend not to know me. I always watch where the sun throws my contours; worried, excited. If our shadows should ever overlap, it will rend the earth we stand on. They are the spiteful, angry shapes that outline us. We will suspect an earthquake – we are Californians, after all – but even the air will vibrate, even the invisible strings that connect our hearts. I will go far away, in my mind, and I hope we will never meet in well-lit rooms. Always cherish the darkness, love that which keeps us nebulous and hard to define.

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7/Apr/2013

Finally

Space prodded the protective layer around the planet, and gathered itself like one takes a deep breath. It pushed through the atmosphere out over the Atlantic and the sea shimmered like the crystal it had just become. The cold travelled quicker than the nothing so when it reached the shores, freezing waves mid-break and snapping people in two, the people further inland had some warning. Space swallowed the half-people and the whole people then, the time of one panicked phone call to loved ones later.

Space engulfed all. It was satisfactory, for how long had it not waited for this?

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6/Apr/2013

Landmine

This is a landmine, but it is unloaded for you. When you feel bad you should open it and you can tell that others feel like you. You can see the traces of their survival on the little bomb’s skin, and you can feel the texture of being so close to defeat, if you run your fingers along the edge, but be careful. The bad stuff will collect in it until it is brimming with it, and that is when you must walk away. Give the insidious little bomb away, because it can only hurt the one who loaded it.

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5/Apr/2013

Maxquile I

Maxquile I was a stray dog with a GPS tracker on his collar. He was scruffy, he was adorable. He had learnt from a young age to identify the kind of children who always had wanted a dog, and to follow them home. He was perfectly behaved, and he played with those who played with him and he left alone those who left him alone. When there were no people about he would stand still near windows and he would howl. That was when the grey men came and took him away, along with all the valuables in the house.

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4/Apr/2013

Learn to Walk, Learn to Walk

You learned to walk when you were ten months old. When four years had gone since that day, you broke both your legs. You learned to walk with those legs once more, and you learned too fast so you lost them. You learned to walk with fake legs, and they made you short. You saved up till you could pay for a new real pair, out of flesh. They made you tall ‘cuz you asked for that.

And soon, age will grab hold of you too, and you will learn to walk the stomp-stomp of those who lose their minds.

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