(un)lucky

seven.

SOMEONE REPLACED MY OXYGEN TANK
I DIDN'T NOTICE CAUSE THEY REPLACED IT WITH YOUR DREAMS
DREAMS OF BOTH OF US ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS.
IT'S SWEETER THAN HONEY. SO I JUST KEEP BREATHING IN

//

07: no air

Mamés's Guide To Performing.

1. Go blind. But not really. There's a piece of cloth in your back pocket. Use it.

2. Switch on real Mamés. Or off. It depends on the mood, the time, the music—

3. Sike. TURN ON REAL MAMÉS.

4. Don't think of anything— Lulu. Mel. The friends who wash off your blackness until you're colourless. The stone in your belly. The flower in your head.

5. Play. Duh. Sing too.

6. Think of everything. The circuit in your chest— on. The thunder in your bones. The earthquake beneath your skin. The planet, on its axis– revolving. Mel— the way she makes your heart sink and swell at the same time. Her heels on your throat. Her hand—in your heart.

7. Don't forget the lyrics. Etch them to the back of your lids. Sear them in your heart.

8. Don't just sing it, doofus. Don't just sing it— Obliterate it and the world. Destroy everything under the sun, moon and stars.

9. Rebuild the world. Feel the music in your skin, in your teeth. In your toes.

10. Let there be sight.

◒

The sharp sound of something other than his breath brings him crashing down. Mamés takes off the cloth from his eyes with shaky fingers, it is soaked. Just like his shirt, and underwear, just like his boots.

The room spins.

The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins. His blood is still singing, his legs are still trembling. The sharp sound is there again; louder, piercing, continuous. He recognizes it now: clapping. And for a second he thinks he's still dreaming, still performing, he hadn't imagined a crowd but maybe it had materialised on its own.

The only problem is that if he was going to make a crowd it would be more than just one person. He squints. More than just Ana.

Mamés is not sure if she's here. The closest he has ever come to taking drugs is having a joint at a party. It made his vision extra foggy and gave him a headache–but he felt light. Like a balloon drifting through the air. That's what he feels like now. Lightweight.

Her next words, though, bring him crashing down. Hard. "What. Was. That?" Her voice is a whisper but it envelopes the room. His ears are ringing.

It's her expression that does it. The complete disbelief brings reality crashing down. She's really here. She saw him.

OhGodOhGodOhGod.

Not only had someone caught his secret performance—his worst nightmare—that someone was Anastasia.

He's not sure how the nightmare usually goes; he can't remember it—anything under the gaze of her piercing eyes. She takes a breath to speak and it's like she is sucking all the air in the room. His body withers in the oxygen-less room—it's coming to him now; the fear. Fingers pointing, laughter so sharp it slices him in half. She opens her mouth again.