Or My Heart
Sunday October 24, 2010
William Tell tried to teach me to allow apples to soften and mould rather than to put them on people’s heads and shoot at them. That way less people would die, or be frightened. But I was worried about the spoilt apples. I had to put them on the other side of a glass door to make sure that I didn’t touch them. And even then it was difficult to see grey blooming soft fruit where once had been the sour solid targets of my bullets, of which there were many.
It was so cold outside. The apples turned to something ugly in the snow and at night slugs fornicated about the mess. I found it hard to comprehend because I could not hold what was happening in my hand.
