‘Walking back home along the rim of the galaxy’
A bed of thorny white roses lay strewn across the garden; the flowers spilled over the walls and the vines coiled in and around empty bricks, thick and piercing. The evening sun threw itself across the leaves, turning them transparent. Their veins suddenly rose to the surface, like a diver swimming to the top of the ocean’s surface, the frothing waves matching the tone of the flowers.
Two young boys stood, arms crossed, shoulders hunched, loitering outside what was usually a post-40 dominated neighbourhood. Their slumping bodies moved secretly, exchanging glances and hushed but cool tones as they slipped joints between their fingers and sipped in the smoke, clouds enveloping their faces.
One blasted reggae out of a boombox larger than him, and slid next to me, an intruder. The roses quivered under the weight of the music, and closed up for protection. I tip-toed over them but was grabbed by the waist of the second boy and saw the sun vanish to the other side of the world. He looked into my eyes and told me he saw the milkyway. I told him he must have seen the chocolate. He laughed, and didn’t stop.
One of the roses coiled itself around my foot, brown turning pink, and threw me all the way back home. As I was being thrown, all I heard was his laughter echo around me.