Elizabeths Illusion

One fist.
Let the freeze-frame blink into darkness every second or so, like the
slowest strobe effect, the clenched hand moves in fits and starts, with
every darkness that passes its moving closer in regimented shifts. time
is almost dead now, you can count the amount of coarse black hairs on
the little finger, check the diamond laced ring constricting a chubby
index for flaws. It looks almost soft, gentle as it moves closer, the
dark fading in now and then which lets the fist move unseen a few
centre metres closer, the smell of nicotine merging in your nostrils
with the smell of a fruity, macho scent. A scent which has spoiled on
his wrists and neck through humid evenings of pub gardens, club dance
floors and patio slabs. Its about to collide into your eyes, all
encompassing and yet broken down as if seen through a flies
kaleidoscopic eyes.
Let time speed up once more.
The darkness comes and goes swiftly, beating itself off against the
rhythm of your heartbeat. It pulses, refracts upon itself and lingers.
When its dark u see pinpricks of light, when its light, you stare at a
simple mans eyes through the pulsing bruises that ache across your
eyes.
A man who bought you flowers, washed your hair, cleaned between your
toes and behind your ears. a man who once walked 2 miles to see you on
lazy Sunday as the rain beat down upon him. A man who cooks your meals,
tells you tales, and most of all, a man who told you he loved you. And
a man who you believed in.
His eyes are almost alien, cold and unmoving. almost black in the half
light as long shadows crawl around his skin as the overhead light
swings in its socket. Mercilessly staring, fist clenched and raised to
his ribcage.
U notice a warmth trickling across your upper lip, you sniff and smell
blood, taste blood. Its almost sweet in this landscape daydream of
shifting darkness, he's shouting, spit freckles upon your skin as he
shakes you by the collarbone into a hazy reverence.
He releases you from his grip and disappears as your head bangs once
more against the cold lino. You look upward, blinking blood and
One fly
Gently pasted against the yellowing ceiling.
Another.
Trying to ellipse itself around the swinging lampshade tassels like an
enthusiastic moon chasing its mother.
Elizabeth pulled herself back from this flashback, she wasn't going to
watch the tunnel of darkness punctuated with vivid greens and reds
again, which always proceeded after the flies fade. She got up rather
shakily and forced her legs to the coffee machine, a few years ago she
would have tried to justify his actions and try to find a way to blame
the one person who couldn't seem to make things better; herself. Now It
was sheer anger, laced with broken disappointment that her brain would
keep projecting this image to her conscious.