Forma Norte II

Forma Norte

Joe had been missing for two days. No one had seen him. He’d kind of vanished off the face of the earth - a difficult thing to do in this place. A derelict seaside town where there was nothing to do but blend in with the general decay: bum around, fuck, be fucked, fight and wish your life away.

I woke up tired, not feeling good, two hours too early. I couldn’t work out if it was the excitement of going, nerves, the sheer disappointment of being alone, or regret at having drunk so much wine - another bottle, four and a half glasses - to relieve boredom.

I can see myself, walking in the same place again and again. The cliff above me was hundreds of feet high; the air was neither hot nor cold. All I remember is the colour of the sky, that strange blue only seen when day meets night. Twilight time, walking alone for miles and miles.

I knew there was no salvation: no ladder or stairway, no wings. I turned towards the cliff, my hands upon my ears, pressing harder and harder. I said ‘Dear God, send it away.’ But it didn’t go away: the noise was now thunder.