Xavier’s face is under water. He’s holding his breath. The surface of the water is descending towards him and is warm around him. His chest floats up and he blows out, to keep himself down on the bottom. He does it noisily, gurgling water into his mouth as does; he’s not hiding. The water passes his lips and he keeps gurgling out the last of the air, the pocket in his mouth still full until he expels it rapidly. As the water descends it covers his skin with foam. He imagines sitting up, and looking at himself in the mirror and seeing himself all white foam and wiping it off to reveal the black beneath. He’s not black, but the image amuses him. In fact, when he does sit it’s a struggle, his thin flabby body struggling against the bath’s smooth sides. He looks at himself in the mirror and it’s like the first time. The foam isn’t evenly distributed and he’s left with large lumps at the side of his head. Rather than a smooth covering, it looks like he has large tumours growing smoothly out of his flesh, John Merrick style, and it completes alters the make-up of his face, though not necessarily in a bad way. Now it looks interesting, large liquid eyes, thick lips, collapsed cheeks and a crooked jaw flowing into smooth white asymettries of tumours.
Published by GriddleOctopus
There are few harder things in life than introducing yourself, especially in print where mellifluous nuance can turn to indulgent wankery. So. I am definitely a 'writer'. You could also call me an 'artist'. I could probably put the words 'designer' and 'consultant' here too, but they feel crass. View all posts by GriddleOctopus