Hand Sines by Alternating Queues

As if in a lucid dream, or an echo of some previous life, you open a door to a small house in a quiet urban neighborhood. A single streetlamp draws a lazy line across your back as you enter the home, and you seem to float through the entryway, bodiless. Your camera eye weaves slowly through the empty livingroom, casually scanning cheap furniture, a VCR from the 1980s and an answering machine with an ominous, blinking red light. You glide silently into a hallway, and veer slightly right to arrive in a dim bedroom. A saggy mattress slumps onto a black metal frame, covered in mussed red sheets, and flanked on both sides by small wooden end tables. On one, you see a digital clock with the time blinking an incessant 3:33. On the other, a weathered copy of a paperback next to an ashtray. Your gaze narrows to read the title - "Die Schlafende Erde", with a photograph of an empty rural road on the cover. Just then, a small sound, and the faint movement of curtains in the corner. A window is open, and a small breeze blows into the room like a whispered secret, bringing with it the incense of a hot summer night, baked on cricket legs and cicada shells. You get the urge to reach your arms out, and down, perhaps to put your hand to your chest in pensive consideration, but nothing happens. A second sense of voyeuristic powerlessness washes over you, and from the darkened passage behind you, a door opens.

Bedroom Music For Electric Adults.

Demos: PO Box 292463, Kettering Ohio 45429 USA.

N.B. (April 2022) We are no longer accepting submissions at this time, and RP is currently on indefinite hiatus. Cheers.

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