Sunday Stories: “Monitor”


by Edy Poppy
Translated by May-Brit Akerholt

I swear, the bags under my eyes are like blisters. I should lance them. They distort my face, my eyes, they keep me awake. I’ve stolen needles from the factory. A little blue box of sewing needles. I squeeze the bag under one eye. Just a cigarette first. I take deep puffs; blow rings. A last cigarette before breakfast. Just one. Then I’ll squash the packet so the cigarettes break in the middle. Throw it at the wall. I count the stubs in the jam jar. The ones with red lipstick marks don’t count. The ones with pink lipstick marks don’t count either. Still. My pores open. I notice how my skin grows coarser, my thoughts as well. I put out the cigarette on the back of my hand. As punishment. Kunyaza, kunyaza …

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