I see through his absence this time a doily placed atop the dust only masks what needs to be done. “My oh my, the caretaker-where has he gone off to this time?”, the creature sometimes says, “my beloved malachite table has been left to rot. An ear-piercing screech is emitted as the creature shakes its head at the absence of dust in his finger’s trail.
A black mist sprays from a limb and converges in the shape two fingers, which it swipes across a dusty surface of the polished, malachite table. Its limbs slender and frail and its shape irrational, it crawls towards the table using its arms like crutches. Occasionally, the door creaks ajar and a black shadow like an oily stain rips itself from the doorway. A warm fuzz reverberates down the narrow path giving the further illusion of a homeward journey as The Caretaker’s ‘An Empty Bliss Beyond This World ’ spins slowly around a worn-down needle. The only thing that remains constant is the swinging pull light in the distance, illuminating the vague image of a door and a collection of misplaced antique furniture beside a turntable. In darkness, everything behind the vagabonds disappears faster than stairs falling into place in front of them. Weathered wood splinters and protrudes like thorns on a rose protecting its sophisticated, Victorian elegance from passing vagabonds. Looking deep into the rough, hasty strokes that make up the painting Annalise is lifted into a dream of a marble staircase encased in a dark and narrow path upwards towards a worn mahogany door. “See you later, space cowboy.” A tear runs down the girl with no name’s face. But when the dreamer wakes up, her mind is left imprisoned in the gallery. Like a character in a dream where someone else is the dreamer, Annalise fulfils their narrative purpose. Rarely does she ever perceive more than passing colours and the inkling of a feeling or emotion, and she lacks the self-awareness to try. But those five words take shape as a painting in a gallery, eternal and immortalised in her rotting mind. Her mind withers to a stump it sucks every drop of knowledge that it can like a dying tree clinging to water. Entangled in light and distant imagery glimpses of memory become her reality only to feel as though she’s woken up from a cloudy dream when her mind returns to the golden archways of the Grand Archive.
The words resonate as they pass through Annalise’s sunken mind but like a shooting star disappearing into the void as quickly as they came. “See you later, space cowboy,” says the girl with no name as shapes begin to lose form.
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