Waking from sleep without the buzz of an alarm clock, or a passing car, or your neighbours deciding 6am was the correct time to be mowing their lawns, is a pleasure most people can barely remember. Skye was happily reminded of this pleasure and woke slowly, like the sunrise on Sunday. She knew she had slept well because she was hungry. Famished actually. The kind of hunger that turns off parts of your brain and shifts you back into a primal, reptilian state. You automatically stalk your way through rooms, shoulders hunched, head and neck slightly forward and your hands out in front of you, curled, just incase a passing bird made the mistake of flying too low and you were ready to close them around its’ body. She scanned around the kitchen and saw little that would sate her appetite so, with a slight snarl, resigned herself and ventured out into the world for supplies.
Her sleep must have had more of an effect than just an empty stomach because it took half the walk for her realise she wasn’t wearing makeup and the wrinkles on her shirt were in the shape of couch cushions. There isn’t anyone here who matters, she convinced herself. The few houses she passed were all in the style of rushed, hastily slapped together cottages that could count their better days on one hand. She wondered what kind of people actually chose to call these places home. Her own home was high up in an apartment building just outside of the Central Business District and the heart of the city. It was all about location. You don’t want to reside in the city itself because that made you appear as though work was your life. But too far out and you aren’t part of it, whatever it was.
|Artist: Alexi Chabane