From a dream I had last night…


Your neighbour’s sister, she replies demurely when I ask who she is as she fumbles in front of the door. My neighbour who was once my lover, and whose heart I shattered in the moans of another.

She is beautiful and Asian, just like my neighbour, but even then my mind does not recall the fact of my neighbour having a sister.  I smile back in appreciation and greet her effusively, cataracts of lust blinding me as I invite her over for a proper welcome.

As she walks behind me towards my door, I begin to question the correctness of reality, I don’t even remember when I got this house. My neighbour was my lover yet I don’t recall a single night of passion. Then it occurs to me that this might be a dream, but the thought does not stay long and hard.

We are both sitting on the bed. Hours have passed, it seems, but I have not learned anything new. I stare into her eyes, looking for truth is in the weirdness that I live in, and see within her the muffled energy of my one-time lover.  But it is night and there’s no power, how could I have seen eternity in eyes only lit by the harsh glare of a blackberry?

What happened to your sister? I ask, dread creeping upon me.

Why have I only now asked the question?

She is dead, the sibling replies, staring at me with eyes with wise eyes.

Suddenly she isn’t little anymore, and the gloom of the night outside has become a dread I wish to escape. My reality becomes surreal and darker,  as though the sun hurried from my countenance. Within the silent dread springs a lust I did not author.

It comes in the idea of a kiss, but what an awkward kiss it must be, for she is reclined against the wall at the foot of the bed, and I lay perpendicular, my head upon the headboard. The effort will multiply the awkwardness. Her body is illuminated by a candle light, but I know now I have never bought a candle in this house.

I suddenly look around the room, aware I am doing so for the first time); the TV and fridge are strangely familiar, but I know I never paid for them.

I look back at her.  Her elbow is now on the mattress, head supported by shoulders. When did she move positions, my inquisitive mind asks. I am out of my depth in this house that is not really mine, and this girl I don’t really know.

I get a clear thought. My neighbour was never my lover, and I have never known an Asian in my life. My neighbour is a chubby, talkative, Nigerian girl who is slated for marriage on Saturday.

The awkwardness has reached nightmare status. I open my mouth to protest…

But it is a kiss that shuts me up. I close my eyes in the heat of it as its passion envelops my senses, and open it when the scales have fallen away; wondering when the girl moved towards me.

She hasn’t. Her smile doesn’t light up her eyes.




3 comments on “Repose

  1. Terdoh says:

    You…my nigga…are dead.

    My nigga…

  2. michael smirnov says:

    its amazing how our personality remember and relate to things we have never experienced . well, in our time , this time . Could they be repressed genetic memorys? or faint recollected wafts of times long ago triggered by a smell , a song ? who knows …someday i believe we will .

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