What Kingdom by Fine Grabol

Author:Fine Grabol [GRABOL, FINE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2024-04-16T00:00:00+00:00

Sara asks if it’s okay to go to her room with Nadja, she’s anxious about the mood around the table now, we’re crowded together with all our different frames of mind, all our different clothes; we don’t know how much friction there’s going to be between our fibers. That’s absolutely okay, Sara, and now I’ll get to the point so we can all stretch our legs, says Thomas and stretches his own, crosses his left leg over his right, at the same time shoving his chair slightly back from the table. I want you to know that I’ve done all I could for this not to happen, but as from the first of August I’ll be stepping down as contact person and section leader here. This is what he says, his eyes glaze over and his voice is stringy and feeble. And I get to my feet; not for fear of being overwhelmed by something outside myself, but because I know the waves, the torment, the namelessness, the patent deceit of the walls. I leave the room, but Thomas comes after me, and from the staff office three pedagogues do likewise. They know before it happens, they anticipate when it’s going to start and how they’re going to nip it in the bud, it’s their job, that anticipation. We can’t leave you on your own now, they say, and the sun beats down outside. I hardly ever want to be on my own, but I want to be now, I want to be on my own with my grief, so I fling open the door onto the back staircase, but they’re still coming after me. I run down to the third floor, out into the corridor there, and still they’re coming. I take the big stairs, hurtle down past the first floor, all I want is to get out into the open, into the sun, and as I reach the ground floor Mark appears. He throws his arms around me and I elbow him in the stomach, but he holds me tight and calls for assistance from the device on his belt. More care workers appear, even some I don’t know. I manage to headbutt someone, I can’t see who, all I can see is a blurring together of the facility’s beige and dark red colors; I kick out and knock over an extra large plant pot with my shin, soil tumbles out over the pedagogues’ shoes and ankles; I writhe and squirm, ten arms around me that grip me tight. The ground floor smells of thin gravy and I kick Mark in the side, but he’s unflinching, solid as a stone monument, and I’m wrestled to the floor. The ceiling comes brutally into my field of vision. Mark hauls me into the elevator.

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