It’s pushing from inside. Hands can be seen forming under the layers. Skin like a rubber glove being stretched. A body within another eager to leave its cocoon. To force its demonic fingers through all three layers, until the epidermis is punctured. Freedom lies beyond and it wants that fresh air.
He senses the demon’s imminent escape, so forms a barrier. Panic grips his bladder as he knits the shell.
In his trepidation, whilst the moon bleeds manure to burn his senses, he forgets a gap.
He is now the shell the bird-like possessor, the anxiety ostrich, needs to peck out of to live. A fragile calcium carbonate deposit. Susceptible to sharp beaks.
He has no answer. No pithy comeback.
Until…breath in…breath out…repeat five times. Deep repetitions. He slows the moth, batting its head off the bare bulbs of his mind.
Like an addict after a shot of heroin, the other being relaxes.
The moon, empty, dissolves like a salt tablet in warm water. From the vanished residue an orange glow appears. It grows brighter; intense, until its rays become sabres of shine to slice darkness in two. The sun appears from the bleak halves.
It then giggles before pushing away the shadows.
Food for the human no longer tastes like sawdust. Breathing isn’t a trial.
The sky and road are clear. No lions hiding in the verges. No bleak monsters mouthing hatred from trees.
For a moment, he can strip himself of shell and skin. Fear for the possessor gone. He can begin a rare moment of thanks for a goood life he doesn’t always experience.
He hopes the record is an LP. He prays the DVD has extended highlights. He wishes for the longest summer day to continue.