Vines crawl across the screen panel above me. Shamefully pale, the night hides its face from us.
I’m standing at the deep-end of a drained pool staring at the scene in front of
me; the algae speckled walls around and the moon peeking through the vines
above. At my feet there is a jet black
puddle. Cigarette butts glow like stars
in the flotsam, then I’m no longer looking into a puddle of grime but into
space. I forget the party going on
around the empty pool. Their voices
become distant memories remembered.
I imagine everywhere else as abandoned as the scene laid out before me.
The rusted ladder squeaks horribly as I climb it to the surface to tell the
people of my vantage point from the bottom of the derelict pool, along the
precipice of a black-hole. They look at
me as one does the homeless doomsday prophets of the city or they look
Someone says they’d rather not get their clothes dirty. I notice I’m the only one here wearing a suit
but I say nothing about it. Instead I
ask: “Don’t you want to know a freedom from yourself? Wouldn’t you like to stand on the brink of
infinity and look down?” but no one answers.
They are all distracted; laughing their heads off at a drunk who fell in
”Haha,” they say, “haha.”