Oliver Dodd - Human/Inhuman (2019)

Have you ever walked on black tiles with black grout in between while beneath a black ceiling, sliding greasy palms along black walls? Have you ever moved beneath the earth and decided that’s where you were meant to be?

I have.

I felt the earth stumble and then stop while the oils from my hands smeared across glossy paint. You could see the waves of my prints for months to come. For those passing months, I didn’t know if it still snowed or if the sun still shined. We moved underground and we stayed put and I watched clouds of hot breath steam up frozen frost and I sweat through the night and she buried her face in my chest.

Her name was Ellie and she could make a sound with her tongue that mimicked the satisfying clicking of gears, the way each notch fits the next and they tumble into one another like two drunk lovers along a hazy alley. I liked the way she wore her hair in two buns and the fact that she always had dirt beneath her nails and ribbons for shoelaces. I liked a lot of things about her, but mostly I liked the fact that, when the world stopped and we stood in the black box, her hand grabbed mine and we walked deeper together, our steps in tandem.

I think it’s winter, but there’s no way of knowing and what does that mean anyway when the earth doesn’t rotate? We tried connecting random wires, shredded pieces of faded electricity. Ellie clicked her tongue at me and drew circles in the soil we sleep on. I tried to build a light, something to illuminate her pallid face, but I guess we’re stuck here, under here and in the dark.