knight

you’re sitting by the window absentmindedly peeling the chipped white paint off the aged frame. the rain outside indifferently wetting everything in sight. you were looking for the knight to come to your window on his white horse. he is not there again. the gloomy days, the residue of winter, do not seem to end although the mid-spring has already passed.  “the knight wouldn't like getting wet,” you tell yourself, “he wouldn’t like having the horse out on such a night.” you close the curtain. you go to the kitchen. you make yourself some tea. you get few cookies out, and you place them on the small blue plate. you sit down on your wooden chair turning it’s back to the window, propping yourself with a slightly stained yellow pillow. a thought, like a déjà vu feeling passes by. you shake your head, not quite sure where it came from. you turn on the tv. the weather forecast predicts a warm sunny tomorrow. you look pleased. you smile. “tomorrow,” you tell yourself, “tomorrow he’d surely come on his shiny white horse”.

walkway

metallic smell surrounds the pile of grey hollow bodies spread against a mirrored wall along the slow moving looped walkway. white sink is attached to the wall. on the grey walkway, endless hollow figures carry expressionless hollow heads in their sturdy hollow hands. their still hollow legs don’t bend, don’t get tired. hollow faces, hollow eyes, hollow limbs, hollow hearts circle around on the walkway. the knob turns. thick red odorless fluid gurgles from the metal faucet. fake flesh, fake vomit, fake blood fill the hollow heads in the hands of the hollow figures as they pass the faucet on the grey slow moving looped walkway.