Julian Okamoto

Red Sand

I can’t remember much before that day. Many times, I've sat in the darkness, trying. Always, the images rush before my eyes like a speeding train. The lights of the carriage flicker through the scratched-plastic windows, revealing unfamiliar faces that I almost recognise the feeling of. They faces stare back, and I feel like I might remember. Then the lights go out and I am left alone coated in the silent, sweaty darkness.