The rain patters on the roof, like soft applause. I’m listening, closely. Very closely. Constant acceleration. You can hear the sky, swarming, shivering. Listen. Low altitude velocity. Before I know it, it’s just like fun. But harder to enjoy. In the next room, I hear laughter, like a little boat, bobbing. Just laughter. And at the end of my bed, my suitcase, small as a monosyllable. I’m only visiting. I can’t stay. Really, I can’t. Thank you. Goedel’s incompleteness theorem. Always something missing. The letter ‘J’ is not in the periodic table. What am I waiting for? Something tells me, it could get ugly. Something tells me, shut up and calculate. Something keeps telling me. Everything is ticking, the wallpaper, the air conditioner, the rain. Sharp, bright, ticking. I’m listening. It ticks faster. Nine bullets. By the time you read this, everything will be different. Nine Bullets. What am I waiting for? Everything will be different.
Appeared in The Molotov Cocktail, Vol 2, No 16, November, 2011.
