Fifteen Minutes
by and published in Edition Eight of Pomegranate
I run with the wind until the treadmill green gives way and my feet pedal crisp, fresh, air. Nylon ripples arching into a rainbow as my lungs become fat with sky and I buoy, cork-like, left over sober cliffs. The below unfurls, creaseless and clean. Lazy shadows, drawn over treetops, dissolve into shrinking lakes. I sit on a currency local to the world, reaction taking place until patches in the fabric are settlements are towns, a speck on a hill is man, I share my air with a flock of rainbows, ears popping along the gradient as we swing back by those cliffs.Sharin Molyneaux
Sharin Molyneaux is 21, from darkest Hull, and studies Philosophy at UCL. She will be published shortly in Fuselit and Nth Position.