I keep on crying while she sighs, my head pressed hard against the porcelain. ‘Do you remember Esperanto?’ she says. I try to respond but my neck’s bent wrong and my mouth keeps making this gluggy, short-cut sound like a wail that’s been harpooned mid moan. ‘It’s dead now,’ she tells the ceiling, ‘nobody used it.’ The faucet dribbles and the air vent mutters. ‘Language is universal, only there’s no universal language.’ Somewhere behind her words is the white noise humming of electric beetles thrumming through our walls. ‘Funny, I just don’t understand you.’ My ducts feel dry.
Nic
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.
27/02/2013 at 23:37
This was brilliant! I really struggle to write short fictional pieces but this is amazing!
LikeLike
28/02/2013 at 02:13
Thanks again. I really love writing these short pieces but to be honest I wish that I was better at writing longer stuff. It’s easy to cram a bunch of things in to a little space, making them last over distance is a challenge.
LikeLike
28/02/2013 at 08:29
I find it easier to write longer pieces in parts & spread out my work! 🙂
LikeLike
01/03/2013 at 11:33
I tend to lose patience with the disconnect between my brain and my fingers.
LikeLike
01/03/2013 at 18:31
Aha!
LikeLike