Author S. K. Nicholas

Sleep takes me when the sun rises, and drops me off when it sets. Jack Daniels and a cigarette to toast the discovery of a new planet, only it’s not new, and it might not even be a planet, so I go for a walk to clear my head. It’s cold. The cemetery is colder, and as I pass the familiar gravestones, the thought of being dead rears its ugly head. It terrifies me, as does the fear of drowning. Walking to a nearby garage, I buy some wine and look at the magazines on display. My phone rings. Removing it from my pocket, I see the name of some girl I vaguely know. She’s okay, but I have nothing in common with her. She likes the idea of me being a writer but thinks the act of writing is boring. She likes clubs and having her photograph taken. Ignoring her call, I pick up some magazine my nan used to read. Flicking through the pages, it reminds me of being twelve again. Only as I’m in the act of reading, I identify that I’m flicking through the pages, and my mind jumps to the phrase ‘flicking the bean’. It reminds me of an ex-girlfriend. Good memories, but not appropriate while reminiscing about my grandmother. The town is getting ready to sleep, but I’m only just getting started. Crossing the road, I come to a halt. There’s no traffic, so I stand there looking about in no rush to reach the other side. Everything is still, and everything is in its right place. Except for me of course. I’m a fish out of water. Always have been. There’s so much beauty in the world, though, and as I stand there trying to figure out where I’m going wrong, some Asian guy smoking outside the restaurant he works in starts waving to me. He’s informing me a car is approaching. I thank him and walk back home not knowing what to make of things. Only the image of my ex keeps coming back; her legs spread wide and my hands reaching up to her breasts. The way my tongue went in just where it should, and how as soon as she grabbed my hair and told me to stop, I downed a glass of champagne while watching a documentary about the massacre of Chechnya. I miss those breasts. I really do. I miss being someone in the eyes of a lover, but that’s what you get for putting ideas before people. That’s what the last one told me anyhow. I’m somehow vacant; like a parking lot or a discarded emotion stirred by some strange dream. My eyes search the night sky, but there’s only the moon. It gives me nothing in return. Never has done- even when I needed it most.