by Tom Chivers
On the fifth day we sailed our frozen island out into the shipping lanes. We counted all the evil things and cast them in an ice-hole. They were only numbers.
On the fourth day we opened high-yield savings accounts. The refugee camps were fast becoming commuter towns encircling the crater. Jets of steam were seen from the tor.
On the third day we left our cars in short stay.The air was pine-fresh. Pebbles nuzzled at our shoes. We began to doubt the alignment of the trackway.
On the second day we shopped. You carried your foot like a dead weight. Some youths got on TV pretending to be trainee customer service assistants.
On the first day the fridge defrosted itself. Wearing Halloween masks we made love and you said something really evil about a mutual friend.
On the day before the first day we fell into geometry like children. The sky was a chemical peel. We slept alone and restlessly through the shipping news.