The Future

When the whispers come

I’m by myself in a tent

Listening to the music

From down the hill

My friends sleeping

With themselves

With others

I’m alone

But not for long

Thrice she called for me

By name

I slept and wondered

Who that angel is and will be

The Narrators in his Head

Follow the river

The flowing, grey river

With your feet

Feel the cold, smooth stones

Caress your feet

There are weeds

Up ahead

That hide the horrors within

You know not what’s in store for you

You feel the rivers bed slope downwards

The water rises above your feet

To your hips

Keep going

Till you’re submerged


Pause the scene


A 20 year old, frozen

In a river

Water, neck high

Listening to everything

The voices in his head tell him

Foolish and gullible