Persistence by Nicholas Grider

October 13, 2011 Comments Off on Persistence by Nicholas Grider

Don’t tell me you’re not listening in. It’s fine. All I’ve got besides the radio on constantly going constantly all the time a little off the signal are the chair and some wire and more than a few rolls of duct tape and enough food to last for a while. Don’t tell me you don’t know what’s going on. I’m in here doing my business, getting things done; the duct tape is very strong, and my good suit is worn at the cuffs and sleeves by now, and I’m picking little blobs of tape adhesive off my hands and my face while the radio plays songs I don’t like, and it’s fine, I don’t need you to intervene; that’s not the idea; I wasn’t even sure you were there, and if you are there, how am I supposed to know anything about you, but there’s nothing more I need to tell you except that I have the handcuffs too, in here, with me, nickel-plated, but I don’t have the key, and I know you’re listening in; maybe you even have a camera, you never know, you can never be sure, but I have the duct tape and the handcuffs and the nest of bent wire cuttings and the chair and the radio a little off signal, and I’m in my little space on my own forcing the hand of chance, and I’ve got enough food to last for a while, and I’m not going to leave; I’m never going to leave here; it’s fine; I’m not leaving until something or someone breaks.

© 2011 Nicholas Grider

Nicholas Grider is an artist and writer who received dual MFAs in art and writing from CalArts and who currently lives in Milwaukee.
website (art only) www.nicholasgrider.com

Advertisements

Comments are closed.

What’s this?

You are currently reading Persistence by Nicholas Grider at Flash Fiction Musings for The Literary Minded.

meta