Max South

Joined October 2021

3 stories

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Stories (3)

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Consequences
If his hands could kill me, then I would be dead very soon. Because my wrists are in his grip, clasped together behind my back and my forehead is kissing the bed. And his hands were around my neck not too long ago and I was on my back with my gaze softened towards the ceiling. So if I really thought about it, he could have killed me already. But he hadn't, and we are wet all over, wet on our chests and foreheads from the hanging, hugging, Territorian heat, and our groins are wet from one another. 'Why are you interested in echoes?' he asked. I didn't answer him. 'You murmur about echoes in your sleep'. I recall a phantasmagoria of bells somewhere in the distance but nowhere to be found. The last chime had an echo. But the inescapable heat was making me red in the face and unable to explain or think, anesthetised. I could tell he was desperate to know but not desperate enough to push. I found it odd that I was more willing to send him my drawers and skin and chest and bits, than I was willing to talk about the echoes. The heat had settled on me like a wet towel, thick, clinging, and oddly intimate. It dulled the edges of things: the clatter of dishes, the scrape of a chair, we drifted in the hot bed like moths in syrup. I moved slowly, not out of laziness but necessity, as if the air itself had weight. In an attempt to cool off, I take a dip. Dead bees floating atop the pool surface. Poor things. I push them aside with some care, clearing an exit path. Water comes with me as I drag my limbs, insensate, on to the warm pavers. I am pink in the cheeks and brown on my shoulders. Young looking and it is nice. I'm sitting outside in an early morning peace, goosebumps on my arms from the fans above. They never stop spinning. The droplets from my ponytail trace my spine, from my neck to my bottom. He appears and I ask him to leave. And he does. With every intention of never seeing him again, I said goodbye. 'Good luck with the echoes' he said. I drank a hot coffee from a speckled mug that wore the name of a community art centre on its posterior.
By Max South6 months ago in Fiction
My female friendships
Anna makes me laugh. She works in rheumatic heart disease prevention. She swims a lot and does all her tasks quickly. She has sea legs and gold rings on her fingers. Anna says sorry for everything, she even says sorry to the barista for "standing too far away" from the takeaway coffee counter. Anna has curly hair and sits in the back of the car and reads. She lies with her curly hair hanging over the edge of the couch. She says my name first when we speak on the phone before saying hello. She has difficulty with her dad. She adores her mum. She walks really quickly. Anna points at everything and says "look at that" even when we are in the middle of a deep conversation. Anna agrees with me about everyone. She doesnt tell me what I want to hear. Anna carries on as much as I do about boys. Anna is really smart. Sometimes Anna cries and I tell her everything will be ok. She knows how to read and interpret information. Anna has equanamity. But she sometimes gets worried about things that shouldn't worry her. Anna is an amazing cuisinière. She moves around the kitchen naturally and puts together food in perfect proportions wiht lots of flavours. She always looks good in photos. She has a warm and natural beauty.
By Max Southabout a year ago in Fiction
He moved overseas and I couldn't cope
I am constantly bleeding. The skin around my fingers is bleeding because I tear it when stressed. My legs bleed where misquitos bite me. I bleed once a month, it is regular compared to others I think. I bleed when I pick blemishes on my face in the hope that it makes them look less like pimples. I do it so they look more like obscure sores. My scalp bleeds because I have sores on my head. I bleed more than others but some of it is self-inflicted. I dont recall being this anxious growing up. I remember being care free, warm, and I was frumpy. I wasn't entirely happy. I had a constant sadness that taxed me. At school, I certainly felt as though my friends had a freedom I didn't enjoy. They spoke of tranquility after rainy nights, how nice it was to fall asleep to the noise of the rain. My bedroom windows rattled in the rain, my room was cold and our downstairs leaked. I never slept well in heavy rain. One day, I hope I feel that sense of security that longs for heavy rain on the roof in the night. I don't know yet if I will ever be truly happy.
By Max South2 years ago in Confessions