Questions

Here are two questions asked about stories. Stories like this,
stories from the internal mind-space, the twisted paths in my brain, a
story of glory or the gory details of past misadventures. Voyager
through a lonely sea the foam wash of lost communication and company
and now this is what I must answer.

What do I expect someone to see when they read a cluster of text, the
random symbols amalgamated so they are no longer arbitrary?

Then another question equally as screened; what would I like them to
see? I turn around to see a torn blue shirt and dust and embroidery and
that place; a one level green-shuttered house and an ebony sash and
poison. I see myself in the past.

As all my dreams were strung across a garden, beneath trees, vocalised.
My thoughts and young aspirations were conjured and spun into the web
of a new world. Yet all those dreams were laid under the feet of
brutality and lay for aeons in ruins. Only a few pencilled images
remained, were not flung back at me. Oh I remember the coldness, the
disdain, the sting of rejection and that is what in part I expect now.
I hold my breath in anticipation of that final moment. In my mind's
eye, I can see how it will be; the stage in my head weaves a future
fantasy the rebuff, the casting underfoot of my words. It is the last
thing holding me back unable to let go because I could not take any
more of that in my life.

So that is what I expect. What do I want? So little. Just that you read
and just that you don't leave this town, this life, the small patch of
time held for me.