A story by Mike Scott I can’t remember the date; I can barely even remember the year. I was having a dream at the time, the kind where you wake up and feel like you’re in love, and for some reason that stuck with me. More so it was drilled into my mind that you put an end to it, shaking me from my slumber with what I initially thought were undecipherable ramblings echoing into my room from outside. My mind tells my body to ignore you – to fall back asleep, and to wake up with only wonder, but my mind is also curious, and it’s this incessant curiosity that sees me standing at my window squinting out across the street. You are naked; standing on the roof of your house which sits directly across from mine as you berate what most would consider to be the innocent night sky. You claim to be in on its secret - that you know it’s hiding stars from you, and that you’re not one to be fooled so easily; aggressively accosting them to show themselves, proclaiming that nothing ever comes from spending a life hiding amongst the shadows. You curse, you swear, your bare buttocks acting as a signal to your severity. In the morning when I look again across the street, I realise that your previous night’s rant was more than likely birthed after alcohol conceived its way into your mind as opposed to under the wing of true belief and genuine opinion, as you lay passed out in the same place that you previously stood shouting. I pack with me, along with my schoolbag, a bacon and egg sandwich and a flask of orange juice to offer as a cordial pick-me-up. By the time I get to your house, you’d risen, and sat with your legs dangling over the side of your roof as if your house were a couch. I could see that you were deeply trying to process how you got to where you were; battling internally with what your next move shall be.
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