Darling, the cameras are watching.
*
*
Imagine: It is late winter; you are standing
next to a pond, holding yourself frozen;
you are about to die a horrible death, and all lights
are on you, and the director is barking
into his ridiculous megaphone,
wearing an equally ridiculous pair of sunglasses, as if
moonlight would burn him. And in this movie
you are the first girl – the innocent sacrifice,
the foolish blonde – except that you are not.
Your hair a dark mane around your face, your eyes
sharp enough at the corners, non-compliance
promised. Your mouth’s a straight line, obstinate.
When you move, the set rumbles
like thunderstruck. Sadly you are but a name on the
deadroll. ‘Listen, all you need to do is scream’, the director says,
commanding you to smile. Your skinny legs
bare and shivering in the cold, and in a few minutes
you will be dragged into the water, wailing and kicking
bloody murder. You are looking at the monster, your co-star, thinking
‘I can kill three of you with a chair leg’, thinking ‘I should be the monster
in the lake’, thinking ‘When will I stop being a parody for men’s entertainment
and an excuse for women’s
discontent?’ The director is still giving commands
but you’ve stopped listening.
You should have stopped
from the start. Imagine: It is late winter, it is 11:46. You dip your feet
into the cold water and shiver.
‘It will be fast’, the monster tells you, his teeth glistening
banal desires; the corner of his mouth threatening
to swallow you whole like a ripe apple.
‘It will be fast,’ he whispers, voice like a noose,
‘Just pretend to thrash a little and give in,
and I’ll pull you down,
and I’ll pull you out of the cold.
You wouldn’t even feel it.’
*
Sun, 19/11/2023.
Ant.
Sesame Tofu 