Don't Know

by Campbell Jamieson

[Not finished]

The teaspoon stops, rests. But the brown liquid keeps spinning round and round, its velocity growing exponentially as it fires around like a whirlpool dragging more into it with each revolution until it too stops.

Johns kitchen floor lay covered in cigarette dimps which was accompanied with a thick mist of smoke that filled the room; a glass bowl once holding passion fruit and oranges was smashed on the floor, to the side were beer bottles that stained a once crisp, white shirt. On the wall that faced the kitchen counter, a 42 plasma screen TV hung slightly off the wall, with the picture disturbed by a thick green line slicing through the centre. In the middle of the room was a plastic camping table where a silhouette hunched over it.

John sat at his table, in his robe, eating corn flakes and flicking between Storage Hunters and The Simpsons. A six-day long stubble carpeted his face and his once thick, brown hair was becoming thin and weary looking. The long hand cast a shadow on 10. A week ago, Johns house would already be empty; if it still contained him, he would have thrown his suit on, grabbed his briefcase and headed out. Now? He didnt even know his clock was on the floor, its glass smashed but the hands still ticking, still working, continuing to fulfil their purpose when no one is watching, when its world has been destroyed.

After setting his bowl amongst the city of other dishes, he grabbed a used train ticket, tore a small rectangle out of it and rolled an o shape with it. Placing it on the table, he pulled a Kingsize Rizla out of its pack, added the cylindrical card and half filled with tobacco. He turned tiredly and looked at his kitchen counter, empty beer bottles, a smashed glass, rotting lettuce and stagnating ready meals filled it. He dragged the lettuce out of the way; it fell and landed in a mush on the floor, creating a green puddle that seeped through the floor boards and infected the wood. His bloodshot eyes gazed behind where the lettuce used to sit and located the sticky green substance which he then retrieved.

John added it to his foundation and topped it with another layer of tobacco. He skinned up, pulled on the flint, releasing the gas he lit the flame and ignited the joint. He took a long, deep breath in, held it for 15 seconds and then exhaled slowly.

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