Carmen X
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It is dark inside and
outside the apartment.
She sits on the floor
in her underwear, one
ankle crossed over
the other, reading
a book. He is lying
on her bed, arms
stretched out, staring
at the ceiling. Only
a small catshaped lamp
lights the scene dimly.
It is silent otherwise.
She flips a page and
says: Hey. He keeps
his eyes following a
crack where the
ceiling and the wall
meet. She says it
again: Hey. He
blinks. She continues:
Wanna catch a movie?
He blinks again. Then
she says: Wanna break
up? He rubs at an eye
and asks what movies
are even out. She says:
I mean it. I’m not
kidding. I mean it.
He mentions he’s heard
good things about that
new Hamaguchi movie,
want to watch that?
She flips a page of
her book and says:
I’m really not kidding.
He groans as if sleepy
and asks okay, why?
She says: Like it matters
either way. He lumbers
to a sitting position now
and looks for a light
and cigarette. Both are
too far and he gives up.
He asks if she won’t get
lonely. She says:
Complaining about being
lonely is like, I don’t
know, complaining about
having all ten fingers
and toes. He scratches
his lower lip with his
thumb. He looks as if
he is thinking of
something to say but
he doesn’t say anything.
Then he mentions that
they can still catch that
movie. She continues
reading; she doesn’t
say anything anymore.
He sits there. The
catlamplight is like
a burnt orange.
Then he shrugs and
gets up and gets dressed
and grabs his phone and
his wallet and his keys
and his lighter and
cigarettes and goes for
his copy of War and
Peace but then recalls
it was her copy he
was borrowing
and so leaves it there
atop a precarious stack
of books stacked on top
of the chair and then
leaves. When he looks
back the apartment sort
of looks like something
you would keep birds in
or something. She flips
a page and then
uncrosses and then
crosses her legs the
other way, the other
ankle over the other
ankle. It is silent
like how 4’33” by John
Cage is silent. She
says this to no
particular person:
Idiot. April winds,
across clear skies and
no plum scent
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Carmen X is (hopefully only for now) a U.S.A. based writer. They are the author of the online novel imagebook. They promise the X really has no meaning in particular.
IG: @animagebook
Beyond the Underground 