To mark Guy Fawke’s night, here’s a short story I wrote in 1995 that jumped into my awareness this morning. I wrote it to honour Antonin Artaud, who inspired me in many ways.
He watched helplessly as the raindrops pulled his already bedraggled reflection rhythmically yet randomly one way, then another. He caught a brief glimpse of those sated, vacant eyes staring through him out of the water, before an unsuspecting drop sent concentric ripples radiating out from between his eyebrows. He breathed a deep sigh and forced his hands deeper into his coat pockets. He knew nothing could really separate him from his watery companion. Continue reading