Cole
Ice has formed around his limbs and head, thick ice through which can just be seen the ink. The ink spells a word along his forearm. A name; maybe his father’s, who I know to be dead. Maybe his lover’s, who never met his father. Living by the flat, grey sea; occasionally walking on its surface under low cloud, when the wind is calm and the gulls sit like old men on the groins - he has many friends, somehow or another they have all survived - easily. The ice formed slowly, over years – it began around the feet, crept upwards to armour the calves and then the thighs; by nineteen, he felt it clasped about the lightly swelling bellows of his chest. Four years ago, the ice contained his head. He visited his mother. He married. He bought a car and drove it.
-
fredhale liked this
-
alcoholandbirth posted this
