No Cygnet for Sleep: 9
‘No Cygnet for Sleep’ contains strong language, sexual scenes, drug use, and gore.
For Your Eyes Only
By Jivan Ward
Her car like dingy second hand comedy car that burp the gases that’ll kill the trees. Early morning she text me. Good morning!, she say, Ready to lose your mind? She try be funny but disparaging look at Ané is some bitter-not-sweet perspective I have to/can’t see. We wait round corner there mist up the window she say, Someone might think we’re fucking, and giggle not sure why she laugh. Door shut we see Ané walk toward us heart jump up throat I sink in seat Suna laugh say, She won’t see us through our fuck-densation.
We two car behind feel like cop movie and I’m the newbie. Business district rear ugly head miles over horizon. We park before a dock entrance and their glass crowns loom over us by the brown canal water and duck shit. We pause chase her out them follow. Ané hold heels in hand change show to trainer for mud squelch. She keypad press and big hangar door click open. Outside brick look derelict. Look somewhere they keep the aliens. Suna keypad press say, Eyes like a hawk brother, eyes like a hawk.
It’s their eyes. I lie in bed and I see their eyes.
Not know how we sneak down corridor like stainless steel asylum you’d think they have CCTV. We follow clunk-clunk. Ané heels clunk-clunk down corridors through doors turn right left one corridor may been two miles, think they’d security keypad or guards or something and walk past these one-way mirrors. Suna turn eyes sullen say, They aren’t TVs what’s behind here is real, okay? She grab my arm squeeze point say, Xana and all its glory.
They probably homeless. Each hair tufts shaved with razor and white pad wire lead down dried red stained cheek some fresh shave some mess of beard clump clotted red. It’s not fake it’s real. He in chair face TV screen see blue glow shimmer on face but TV black Suna say, They have to black it out otherwise we’d be entranced too. Off-grey plastic gowns sweat stained to the chair, their eyes all off-white off-blue-blue-grey. One jerk. Head turn to me. Drool sway like pendulum inch off floor and drop. Mouth baba like fish. They all baba they all grey skin shine sweat, and dead eye say, Help me.
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