Day 1 – The Trap

NaPoWriMo

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The stairs lead up to where he is trapped on the stained sofa a neighbour has lugged up to the square room with its bare floorboards.  The windows are shut so that neighbours will think he is out, and he has propped cardboard and old paintings against the panes; nobody must see in. It is Spring, but the room is as dark as a winter afternoon, and crisp and sweet wrappers rustle underfoot as you walk across to sit on the only chair in the place – the only possible place to sit, given that the sofa has been a setting for several bouts of incontinence.  If you risk it, you will rise up from it damp, and with a faint whiff of piss, which will follow you around until you can shove your clothes into the washing machine and take a shower. He will not meet your eye. He thinks you are to blame for what he has become.

The world and the door

a terrifying distance

across that hard floor.

4 thoughts on “Day 1 – The Trap”

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