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No Cygnet for Sleep: 5

‘No Cygnet for Sleep’ contains strong language, sexual scenes, drug use, and gore.


No_Cygnet5

No More Bliss

By Jivan Ward

Open eyes to grainy dark blink and black-noise almost vibrate about me. Sticky sweat I push duvet up off to double layer you groan and roll to side hear you fall in to sleep. I up no way sleepy now I up. You breathe mouth like fish baba-ing against bed sheet hair tucked under your neck and I stretch yawn and croak.
Dark, can’t turn bright or you wake I don’t know if you sleep heavy or. Dark, hope I remember layout. Touch toes lightly on carpet and heel follow suit press up and stand and black-noise shuffle around like I deep in tranquil tornado. I hand slip through to feel side of double bed lead to fuckshit. Fucking. Bed. Post. Fucking. Fu–sshhhh Ané probably freak out if wake up and I hop probably stare like I search room or stare at her sleep. Press toe with heel breathe to walk to poke door handle and breathe in when handle twist and door squeak speak say Wake up! Wake up! We’re All Going to Die! She rolls and grunts.

Look round now she not here not pulling off my shirt stumble to boxers fondle to naked. I see what she be what she was and who sleep in the cubby what memory skin shed is framed to decorate, nostalgia pinned and hardly noticed until someone else point it out. Ané feet v on compact snow. Arm round friend and teeth bright white smile youth and oyster only part digested. Line up like board member work-do-awkward awkward see strain of nine to five more maybe, suits affluent chubby prim and skirts below knee. Maybe she work most day. She grin in park kid knee high man arm wrap round shoulder. Expected. Glossy wood slat squeak I hunch and tip toe to dark room. White red four eye’d monsters up down. Tall darker-than silhouettes and blinking planes sinking to far centre. London from above is privileged view. Think Cee wait no more than ten maybe half hour if she nice. I need check phone. Imagine see Hugo angry all-caps fingers press hard to touchscreen. Skin touch me no regrets forget the regress think ten floor apartment with dawn soon be whispering up horizon. She lie in bed and I go there I be there I hold not her but what she be thing she is that plastered on her walls. Think, representation mean actualisation? Does what you think you is mean what you are. Perception is bane.

Walk from window to couch feet up coffeetable slouch. Hope husband don’t come or kid wake up can’t be here no can’t be here. Letters drop on floor with crinkle slap. Already open momentum threw contents to glide across slats. Mum finger wag you not read else mail illegal immoral. Pick up hope they weren’t in particular order. Print face me skim. Classified. Corporation Name. We are writing to confirm Xana go ahead. Put down letter shuffle to right place. Sound important.

Either way sunrise just for me.


Jivan Ward

Jivan Ward was born and reared in London, where he learnt that there’s more to life than what surrounds you. Stumbling out of a tumultuous passion for music, into the corridors of libraries and the dank recesses of fiction, he began writing poetry and short stories before going to university to study the craft and art of writing. Tit led to tat and he works in retail and is currently writing a novel and running a blog. He believes the internet is a force of neutrality and that the publishing industry should invest more in its authors than its devices.

For more Information on this Series, Visit: No Cygnet for Sleep: An Introduction
To Follow the Entire Series, Visit: No Cygnet for Sleep: Jivan Ward

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