George Ovenden

1: Faces stare out at me from a poster. 
    They are reflective, vacant, black.

0: Darkness floods the room.
    It is thick and still and quiet.

1: Darkness brings a dim snarl of 
    white noise. Its voices rise and fall 
    in a language I don’t understand.

0: Static seeps away and we are dark again.

1: Through the crack in my wardrobe 
    they stand with backs turned away. 
    They have stopped talking.

0: Darkness again. We are alone. 
    It is thick and still and quiet.