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This is a piece of Flash Fiction composed earlier this year. Such a thing is unlikely to get published and so I thought I’d air it here. Just an experiement.

 

Reluctant snow fell on the forest of people. It was late evening but not the eve of anything in particular.

You. What are you doing?

Just waiting for a mate.

Who’s ya mate?

Just a mate.

-Oi, man… come on!-

He staggered away. Grease smeared on his lips, friends at arm’s length jostling each other, sallow features and no doubt callow minds.

The wind picked up, biting harder than the cold could on its own.

Just a mate… Waiting for a mate.

Ambiguous and cursory but it was true. There, waiting amongst mirrored glass. Under the artificial light which clouds darkness; a contrast that emphasises the oppressive element of night by making it opaque. The same night that taunts each snowflake to jump onto the moving tombs below that breathe so heavily upon life. Every forest moves. Its breath; it can wait or hang – but eventually it goes.

Mate.

This blog has been set up primarily to keep track of my own criticisms and passing interests relating to the artistic world at large. Inevitably this will focus more on critical ideas literature, poetry and theatre than other areas. The exact nature of this content I happy for the moment to form organically instead of setting out to write only about a small set of particulars.  As I don’t particularly believe in manifestos I will leave you with a brief explanation of the name and a promise for more substantial material to come.  

The name Single Spoke comes from a poem by the Romanian man of letters Nichita Stănescu [niˈkita stəˈnesku]; Wheel With A Single Spoke, with which I am particularly enamored. There aren’t many English translations of his work which have been consistently celebrated in Romania, even during one of the country’s most turbulent political era, and cover vast subject material. Highly recommended and a nice overview of his work can be found here