No Cygnet for Sleep: 8
‘No Cygnet for Sleep’ contains strong language, sexual scenes, drug use, and gore.
Black eyes at me say, I’m Suna.
She asked about Ané grab my arm and asked about Xana. Wonder she came on the bus. Wonder she’s follow me home. Look over shoulder after oyster card beep. She lean to bus stop smoking eyes smoking nods and winks at me. Door rubber lip squeak and bundle shut. Upstairs hold rail when bus jerk into traffic and turn to gallery of blue carpet seats half full and sit. She still there look up at me and drop butt on floor crush with black boot heel and wave walk away.
Sat-Nav-Android-Lady Say: Chiswick Police Station. But we’re nowhere near.
Black eyes not deviate. She stand in front I say, I-I’m not interested. Sigh she pull twenty deck from flannel shirt dress pocket bite to fag in teeth. Lighter scratch-scratch. She look me like God, You have no idea what’s going on. She bite lip say, Do you know what day of the week it is? Smirk. Something about her smile frighten-charm me. She ask about Ané. How meet how know how come you in apartment after she left? I say, What do you want?
Man next to me sigh and scratch his hair. He look up over seats and Sat-Nav-Android-Lady Say: Chiswick Police Station. But we’re nowhere near. News app, nothing new. Social app, nothing new. Game app, nothing new. Sit and wait for bus to move.
Black eyes glint before sparkle fade. Suna look down to floor and me and mumble. Fight urge to say what?, and walk around her. Bus stop not far and there I think is safe from stranger. Wrong. She grab arm and ask about Xana. How she know? Suna hold out hand and she put her number in my phone. Say, Tomorrow I’ll show you, yeah?
Car horn beep, man next to me sigh and scratch his hair and cough. He look up over seats and Sat-Nav-Android-Lady Say: Turnham Green Church. Police lights silent blinking. Bus round van with door open and blood stain pink clean blood splattered on tarmac and ambulance load up stretcher.
Sometime I wonder if there point, certainly no meaning. Sometime just blunder to blunder and here what we are and made up of excavated. There no way to find truth without experiment. I stagnant too long where nothing begat nothing but alone. But aquiline or black? Those black look haggard, Suna look eighteen year tired. Maybe she share what keep her up.
And I may even like it.
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