Exercise 1: Starry night:

The bare branches of the ash trees spread out like a bird's dark fingers, and I imagine the remaining of her body, her soft paunch, and bended wings, her blinking eyes, lying passified beneath the soil; I don’t want to disturb her, but I do. I stick my boots into her body, while her twigs whirl against me like skipping ropes, shrieking: jump, jump. Eventually I get to a clearance, where I have the view of a small village in the valley. There is another type of people living there, they wake up in the morning, they work during the day, and they go to bed at night. I like to imagine living in one of those houses. It soothes me on especial bad shifts. Though I know that they also see the white smog from the factories, overpowering the sky, blurring the stars, dimming the moon, smothering the green fields. It is seeping into their landscape as well; The fuels of burnt rubber.

Exercise 2: Unexpected detail:

Her shoulders move into the bed’s sharp angels. She moves them out, turning against the wall, towards the ceiling, back towards the sheet, jostling her arms around the pillow, but there is no softness there, just wet bones, and a headache. She’s not supposed to, but she checks her phone. It’s three minutes past two. She gets up, not wanting to open her eyes, stretching out her hand to find the blue pills on the kitchen counter. The tap murmurs angrily when she turns it on. Then she walks drowsily, neck portruding, towards the hallway, stopping below the hangers, groping her head into the big, black jacket hanging there, sobbing a little. She unhooks it and puts it on. It generously covers her knees. Hesitantly she stands in the doorway, as the cold snarls at her. Then she quickly walks over to the shed, finds herself a corner; Her skin nipples like a turkey, as she waits. She closes her eyes. Opens them again. And then he’s there. Her dead husband. He has his usual sullen stare. He doesn’t sound like himself though. Not one swear word, no spitting. Rather he’s started to speak more like herself lately. He talks with a low, forgiving voice. He says things like: Go back into the house, baby. Why not make yourself a warm cup of milk with honey. I know that will help. This won’t. You know that. And then he tells her that he loves her as well.

Rose Korol

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