acva
He put the bottle down and sauntered towards the bed. As he hauled himself onto the sheets he muttered: "What are you doing here?" just as he passed out. But the time he woke up the next morning, I had left.
Step into the space. Close the door. Shut the curtains. Shut your eyes. Open them. You are somewhere different. You are someone else. You are not alone.
I am cross. Furious in fact. I throw the chair. It breaks. I throw a mug. It smashes. I pick up the knife. I put it down. I pick it up again. And put it down. I stare at it and think, do i really want to do this?
He stood outside the fence, on his tip-toes peering over. Inside the garden he saw two children playing with stones. Inside he heard the sound of a piano.
Jack looked down into the box. Martin grinned at him.
"But there's none left - of anything."
"I know," said Martin, as Jack began to cry.
We have it made. We're the future. Homes. Jobs. Money for going out. Money for this and that. But even though we've got it made, we feel hollow.
No sir, don't go there, sir. I'm asking you. But he doesn't listen. I'm property. I'm his. His can buy me. He can use me. There's nothing about me that can't be bought or sold.