The post posttruth journal
All your favourite distortions from here, there, everywhere and nowhere.
Ding ding ding
White smog floating, stinging. Ding. Shattered ticket machine. Kale salad and pumpkin seeds. Enter. Ctrl-alt-delete. Enter. Canisters and bricks on disgorging streets. Sun’s lacerations. All you fight fans. Ctrl-alt-c. Ctrl-alt-p. Ctrl-alt-delete. Gleaming structures, towering shadows, shuffling reflections. Dash. Sandy sweat, glittering water, swam so far everyone’s a speck. Dash. Adapted to survive hostile environments. These coffee rings, I just can’t read. Meat cleavers? Ctrl-alt-c, ctrl-alt-p, ctrl-alt-delete. Bleeding Newsfeeds. Ding. They just like to play. Crazy baby girl, there ain’t nothing. Parry. They use us to play each other. Dash. Catch me if you can. Keep it Simple, Stupid: don’t take street fights to the ground. Better go now, curfew in an hour. Ding. Philosophical questions: What’s a red line if it only wobbles? What is another word for fear? Dash. Ghosts layered on ghosts layered on ghosts. Dash. face so pretty you don’t see a scar. Which proves. Ctrl-alt-delete. Dash. Saw you on the other side of the carriage. Ding. You looked smaller than I remembered. Dash. Like the Wizard of Oz behind curtains. Dash.
This gorgeous, gleaming, electric city.
And everyone got what they paid for.
Me against me
Shadow boxers and entwined torsos.
Toes darting, ropes bouncing, bodies capsized. Mouthguards in. Me against me. Arms up. Thuds and tussles. Taste of metal. Tap. Purple elbows. I said tap. You against me. Two. One. Three. Three. I’m the instigator. One. One. Don’t let him take your back. Psshh. Clanging barbells, swinging bags, bloody knuckles. Keep moving. Psshh. Psshh. Gloves dripping. Twisted firestarter. Me against me. tap. Bodies in motion. sideways. Sprawl. Sprawl. Hands off his t-shirt. Sinews gleaming. Tires hurtling. Get him to the ground. Plates crashing. Me against you. I’m the detonator. Easy. Oss. Head high. One two. Fake. three. Push kick. Push kick. Stop. Hold. Swivel. Side mount. Trap his ankles, trap his ankles. Fingers wrapping forearm. Forearm pressing bicep. My boa constrictor body. Elbow pushing elbow. And squeeze.
tap. I said tap.
first draft fiction about nothing.