Bilingues & Artistes Bilingues et Artistes: May 2014 | Page 7

his neck, leaning in for a kiss. When he doesn’t kiss me, I see that his
eyes are staring straight ahead. They narrow for a second, as if he was
trying to clear his vision. With a small sigh, I turn my head to find
what he is searching for. All I see is the dark shadows of sleeping roller
coasters.

“Do you think anyone is here?” He asks. His eyebrows pull together. “I smell hot dogs.”

“What? Don’t be silly.” He looks down at me. His face is blank;
as if he did not register I was here. “Did yo u say something?” I roll my
eyes, ignoring the slight quiver in his voice.

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out now!” I step away, beckoning to him with my finger. He shakes his head, his brown locks falling
over his forehead like a small waterfall. He pushes them back, and
then runs to me. He picks me up and spins me around. Our joined
laughter brightens up the desolate park.

When he puts me down, memories flood back. “Let’s go to
the Carrousel!” I shout. I remember where it is, and it is I who pulls
him along this time. We reach it, and I can’t help but climb onto the
nearest wooden animal. The moonlight illuminates the carrousel, and
horses gain their own demonic face. I don’t care; I know it’s just a trick
of the light, or lack of. I close my eyes, feelings of contentment coursing through me.

Something creaks, and my eyes open with a start. He has stayed
in the same spot, not moving. His body seems paralyzed. The quiet is
so loud, that all I can hear is his breathing. Short, shallow. Something
is wrong.

I get off the horse, and I walk towards him. His eyes are unmov-

ing, focused on something behind me. I can feel my breathing start to
match his. I dare not look back. There is another creak. I clench my
hands, nails digging into my palms to keep me from screaming.

Short, shallow. Yet each breath feels like an eon. My heart feels
like a wild animal, beating against my chest.

Thud. Again thud.

Tears edge from my eyes, pushing their way forward. In silence,
they stream.

I quicken my pace to join him. As I reach out, he turns and
runs with all his might, leaving me behind. As I try to scream, I feel a
hand cover my mouth.
“Shh.”
By Sophie Benson
Photography by Ryuji Chua

Back Cover - Painting by Shiyoon Myoung, 4*6
“It will disappear”
7 - B&A - Issue 14 - Black & White