BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

Belnice Helena-Nzinga

The Silences

I can hear the silences breaking through the night, gently whispering through cracks in the walls, as one greets another.

The room is dark but I can see them floating around each other, twirling through still air, quietly bouncing off the ceiling.

Their muted laughter echoes through the house. They glide delicately across the room. Some lie idly on the carpet, giggling childishly as the smell of alcohol dances on their breath.

Others sit perched on bookshelves, flicking quickly through pages with cigarette in hand.

Clouds of white vapour drift towards my face, travelling up my nostrils and stinging my eyes.

I cough violently, my lungs erupting from the smoke. I can feel their eyes on me now. They stare in shock, as if only just noticing my presence. Their glares are pure hatred.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and they all flee.

Cara Addleman Feline

Purring people roll on their backs like social-climbing cats, waiting for you to tickle behind their ears, and behind their girlfriends’ backs, inject their immunity and their egos, whisper in their ear Aren’t you a good boy? And aren’t they? Throw them a treat, or maybe an introduction or two, scratch under their chins and scratch each others’ backs. Treat their fleas as you treat their pleas for assistance, de-worm their reputations and their arseholes, and feed them dry food that’s good for their teeth and gossip that’s good for their teething problems because it sharpens their molars and their manipulative leverage, helps them catch birds and competitors alike in their claws and in their professional jaws. Stroke the backs of their necks as they eat them alive and crush their spines, then watch as they lick the blood and the bitterness from their lips. Watch as they lap up the milk and the glory. After all, they truly are the cats who got the cream.