mellonella

Damp, neon, midnight. Street light on, always. Cars always on. Street racers make me feel at home for a moment. Someone decided this was their street, they claimed it for a moment, for a moment it wasn’t the Councils, and it wasn’t mine, this strip was theirs. I’m used to this bed now. Sighs, sinking, eyes closed, dark, damp, neon, midnight.

I’m conscious. Red lights shine through my eyelids. I know when I turn over to look the clock will most likely say 700. The door opens downstairs. My bedmate arrived back from their nightshift. 5 minutes to keep my eyes closed then 25 minutes to get ready and make the bed for them.

I like when it’s quiet. When no one comes in and feels surprised to see me sitting quietly by myself. I’d like to see how it feels one day to be greeted without politeness – to witness a genuine greeting. I imagine this as something that would take more time and sincerity. People have neither in this place. But I did have that 5 minutes, yes, you did have that 5 minutes. I sit on the kitchen countertop next to the microwave. It’s a small shared apartment. The Council has implemented an experimental living arrangement to help solve homelessness. So, it can be a busy flat at time but for the moment I feel like I have enough space. I find these moments alone feel more precious. I noticed the mail beside me, with not much care. I slid the few across the counter, took a sip of tea, and saw my name on a green envelope. Interesting.

A green envelope. This is from the government. It smells like it. Either Jury Duty or Presidential Turn. I poked it twice. On the second poke, the edges of the envelope caught on fire and their were several flames that sparked, green flames, blue flames, and red flames, before the packaging disappeared.. leaving behind a small wax worm.

Oh sweet, galleria mellonella, come here.

I pointed to my index finger and the sweet worm listened to me. Once nestled on my finger, I brought them up to my ear. They crawled inside my ear and made a home inside the walls of my skull.

So, it’s my Presidential Turn.

Sun is on. Street light is on. The Memorial Tree in the estates courtyard casts a shadow on the lawn. The shadow at this time of day is my favourite shade of blue. In 8 ticks I’ll close my eyes and fall backwards off my 5th floor balcony.

Always caught by the Communal Current I’m drifting through Greater London. I don’t like looking at the sky or at the people. On my way to see the Sorter I keep that colour blue in my mind for as long as possible. It sounds like drones, the current, it sounds like drones. I try not to think of that. What would that colour blue sound like? I know it wouldn’t sound like war.

The Sorter today is Middy. I hold out my hands. He holds them. I’m not used to the wax worm in my head. I sense it’s to come out now. It will inform the Sorter what to do next. It moves toward Middy. He offers the galleria mellonella a slice of honeycomb. Their mighty jaws carve a tunnel into the offering. Middy looks at me with bright black eyes.

It has been accepted. You will perform your civic responsibility as acting President commencing tomorrow. You will be brought to your Presidential home when you next enter the Communal Current.

Middy smiles at me, it’s hard not to smile, I hold back but he sees I’m fighting it. I’m sure he also sees colours in the shadow, at least, that’s how it feels to me in this moment.

I stand staring at the current off the balcony of the Sorting Centre, the way I used to stare at vortexes when they would puddle up after a heavy rain. I really don’t like looking at the current, it looks like a fuzzy haze, ribbons of colour flowing through, I know they are all people, why do they look like ribbons in there? How can we be ribbons and a human at the same time. The vortex was like a shadow, a bright shadow, it was lighter, I never felt threatened by them. Though how could I know what it truly was, I never jumped into one, I only have an innocent awareness of it.

I still have an hour of sun. I head to the top floor of the building.

I arrived to the roof. It’s a good area to get sun and see the city. There’s two other people looking, they seem like their from out of town. I wish I had a cigarette. You can only get those if you live near tobacco farms and if you’re lucky to be gifted one.

I’m at the Presidential home now. No, one is here. It is gaudy. I don’t understand.

I walk into hundreds of rooms in this palace. An empty palace, filled with minerals. I wonder who lit the candles in this place. I’m so tired now.

red clovers under my eyelids. why don’t I feel comfortable, ever. I feel like my ankles are being dragged by water.

I’d like to not discuss God. I’d like to not discuss anything. I need peace. I need to feel ok. I’d love to see them again. It feels like forever.

the words are meaningless.

gardening my head with sludge is no way to grow, it’s a sure way to fall deeper into the quick sand. I’ve done myself no favours.. it’s a wonder the communal current is strong enough to pull me around and around. and there it is, the weed. reminding me of something. reminding me to pull it, to cut it out. it’s a new day. I told myself yesterday I must say one good thing, one thing that I love. I love I see colours, when I wait long enough. I can see them. I love that. Even if it goes away at least at some point in all of existence I saw the most spectacular blue in a shadow of the memorial tree. that happened. the time is 5801. one minute past midnight.