The rough time of the year. Kicks in with a nailed boot up the arse. Smoking is the only way to stop one’s self tearing off the skin from one’s body. There is peace outside the atmosphere; in that place that smells of burnt rubber and is quieter than the bottom of the sea. The microscopic space plankton cover one’s visor. A quick rub with a clumsy glove and they’re gone. Smudged dreams? Souls? Always on the move as December trundles along, like a horse-drawn cart carrying cold, dead forms. Food loses its taste. Regret stomps around upstairs in the skull, having a party that one is not invited to. Heat rises from the chest and heaves words of unknown origin. Curses to everyone, everywhere. The sky crackles with fireworks. Dogs are beside themselves. Others sink into oblivion in their armchairs.
Then, like a new torture, the words won’t come. And no one to bounce off of. No one to tell these words to. Listen, I love you.
In a distant town, robbers sit in around a table, bloody mouthed, feasting upon the hearts of others. Though, deep within the chest, the new heart germ quivers into life with the speed of a mountain. Aorta sprout over a time so lengthy that it appears as though there is no movement. Nothing. Then, without noticing, suddenly there is a new heart. As if by magic. And this new heart beats with a new joy, one without memory. The mind, then, needs to educate the heart, tactfully, and without injecting it with fear. Because, once fear enters the heart it will repel it to all other parts of the body until one is a walking tremor; cut off from everyone, yet hungry for their company.
The robbers burp, and laugh at their own greed. Still hungry, and with the milky moon slowly turning red, they set their eyes upon each other.
A rough time, yes. A belly full of chips. Snowed in salt and drenched in vinegar. Curry sauce. More flavour. The space plankton hurtle in their thousands towards the Earth, each of them burning up with a faint, ‘pfft’. Upon the dark areas of the globe, small flickers of light sparkle and disappear.
One hangs weightless before the enormous world. There on the surface lay the performances of seven billion, of which I am 4,239,400,136th.
Deliciously insignificant. A snake appears before me. Its eyes are filled with an ancient message. And, a it lunges in to finish me off, my heart calms; there, at the edge of the world and the beginning of infinity, I let a small fart go inside my spacesuit.