1 The constraints: 1) No more than
one hour. 2) No more than 20 lines.
The result ? Genius or Not.


06 October 2010

By Kate Lermitte Campbell | 2010 October 06

The lights are down so we keep to the cats’ eyes until five steps down you catch my arm: “Here?” I smile and nod at the mime’s silhouette that turns and proceeds between the rows knees lifting like puppets, exaggerating apology for those at the back.  

It isn’t easy to advance in such a situation and you’ve shut your eyes because you can’t stand the ads so I assess our position, the owls behind and the blind amoebic prey in front. Unsure which camp we’re in I pack myself tight with my knees pressed up in front, my head beneath the birds’ horizon.  

The screen plays lightly with your features and complicit I chart the changes with the nephoscope of my gaze until the sound cuts, the curtains draw back, you open your eyes, turn and touch my hand.

Pale skin on skin as dawn flutters light behind foreign words and the breeze that shivers the leaves of a blackening tree disperses grains of golden sand. A film of desire veils the whitening sun as a sigh traces patterns on the roof of a hut.  

The ribbon unfurls soft and steady like your breath and for the moment it seems that the only risk is saturation. Don’t think too much, keep the stitches loose. I linger on the seam as you slip between the shadows in the corner of my eye.  

What is it that draws your cheek so close to mine? The ice on the lake or the holes in the mittens on her hands? There is a tree and am I mad or is that your eye embedded in the bark soft and warm like a kiss – your neck darkly luminous leads path-like to your face that rests invisible on branching fists.

I hold you tight in my triangle until the static makes you turn and as the mountains fall behind them your fingers brush my cheek.  

My lungs swell with the drumming, skin stretched tight over white bone as the light divides the lake and the sky starts to sink beneath a column of white words.

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