Week (A Tragedy in Seven Acts) by Sean Cunningham

Monday

I walk past a painting in an art gallery on a street that I was never sure existed until now as I write this. The painting is of a man named Míguel, but I feel like I am looking in the mirror for at least half a second before I realize I have blue eyes.

 

Tuesday

I am lost at a crossroads and there is nobody around to ask for directions or to ask for directions for me. I pick a direction, then disregard it, I pick another and it is the right choice, I am sure.

 

Wednesday

The wind is cruel and excites me. I take shelter in a bus stop where a woman asks for the time and I smile and nod. I go upstairs on the bus because there will be fewer people, she stays down because she is old.

 

Thursday

It is Winter and I have more joy in my heart than ever before.

 

Friday

I lose a winning scratchcard in a car park, I think, and I think some woman will pick it up and feel better about her divorce.

 

Saturday

I put a bagel in the toaster but I am summoned to the pub before it can pop. I play snooker for the first time in my life and vow to never again as I swallow four pints and prepare for four more.

 

Sunday

I think about Míguel and his antics; how he enjoys eating oranges, how he hasn't held a pair of secateurs since he was a boy, and how, at night, he prays to a God he knows both exists and doesn't.

Sean Cunningham is twenty-three, from Liverpool, and recently completed a BA in English Literature. His writing consists of very short poetry and prose and has appeared in Moonchild Magazine, Bending Genres, and Gone Lawn, among others. He can be found on Twitter at @sssseanjc .

© 2018 by Azia Archer

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