Dark Visions 2 by Anthony Rivera & Sharon Lawson

Author:Anthony Rivera & Sharon Lawson [Rivera, Anthony & Lawson, Sharon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781940658087
Publisher: Grey Matter Press
Published: 2013-12-14T23:00:00+00:00

* * *

Now I sigh and stretch in my empty bed. Dust of memory comes at me in a blizzard. I wear no goggles to keep stinging, eye-gouging memories at bay. I wear, as I have worn for years, a pair of blinkers. I should have seen that he needed to be in control, not mundanely as a control freak, which he was, but because his mind was growing erratic to the point of demanding control over everything, not just his own life but of the world around him. No aura of creepiness clung to him, though I see now that I was complicit in the evil that lurked beneath his chummy veneer. His intensity, his combativeness, his need to confront, led to him becoming unable to pull back. I should have read the signs and seen it coming because over the last few years of our friendship he had begun to paw the ground intellectually, looking for arguments, seeking out spats, putting his head down in such bullish fashion that it culminated in four arguments in two hours.

On the night of those arguments, twelve months ago now, I had known him less than five years. Several times in our history I had considered dropping his friendship, our relationship having gone through more than one cooling-off period. Each time I allowed him back in because I would warm to him again by convincing myself that life would be poorer without him, which it would have been in the same way as war would be poorer without all those deaths.

The first disagreement must have been a trivial matter. I cannot recollect it. The second argument began when I said I liked the latest piece of popular music sweeping the land. He called me a ‘musical ignoramus.’ I thought that a little strong and argued the toss before veering the conversation to another topic. He made equally strong comments on the state of the country. I considered what he was saying to be dangerous generalisations. While I can take criticism of my country, there are still a few nationalist hackles—genetically installed at conception, I believe—that rise when the dressing-down comes from the lips of an Englishman. I looked around the bar, wishing for someone, anyone, to join us. It was the fourth and final row that clinched it. At closing time I began telling him of poetry readings lined up to coincide with my book launch.

He said, “It just goes to show that you don’t need a high standard of work to get a collection published these days.”

I felt that my innards had been filleted. It may only have been a small, independent publisher in the city, but it was legitimate and arts council funded, paying me a pittance, unlike the two vanity presses he had paid to bring out his collections in England. I would get reviews and invites to arts festivals and be regarded as a genuine player on the circuit. He never would. He knew that and it killed

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