Reality was a bad dream. At least, some realities were. Alexander’s reality had been exactly that ever since he’d arrived in London a year ago. A bad dream. Not just poorly written and directed here and there, but actively twisted and evil, seriously bad. The worst thing was that he wasn’t sure whether he was the protagonist or merely some walk-on. Although it was more like a run-on at the moment.
The street, irritated by Alexander’s noisy stumbling, tried to shake him off. It threw people right into his path. He was too tired to dodge them, too slow, so he crashed into them. Some of them pushed him backwards. Or sideways. Muttering. Shouting. Shaking fists. At other moments, the street opened unexpected doors that he had to dodge. It loosened cobblestones that tried to trip him. Worse still, the street granted his pursuers freedom of movement — and they were catching up with him, in their black suits, with their gunmetal hands and foreign curses. The street, under suddenly doubtful skies, wanted to get rid of him. Quickly.
Read the rest of “A Taste of Bitter Gold” at Red Phone Box
(…and do read all the other stories Salomé Jones’ RPB has to offer as well. ;))
