Keys

Keys Image copy

Keys is the latest flash Fiction work from Alison Little.

Keys

Around us we are surrounded by keys, hung from every section, floating around, spinning. Shadows brightly identified by the white surfaces which are the parameters of our encasement in this heaven -like cell. The keys float and dangle head height like angels in an outer world. The jingles and rattling almost ghost-like, jitters of evil coming to take us from the purity of our setting. Clattering faster and faster, more and more in motion together, louder and louder, machine gun like in battle, will we be taken?

Subtly they quieten down, jingle in serenity again, bell-like, the instruments of the piano, not one of the devils jailers on a dictated mission to take us to him. We are safe within the white purity of our surroundings, the playful clacking of the brass and steel instruments of secure captivity. The tags which identify their uses, the fobs which fumble and the enlarged shadows which follow their leaders every move. Sounds which surround, which inform, which provide safety but exclude us from freedom.

A dreamscape of soulfulness suspended in our vision and the recipients of the routes of sound waves. Serenity, shadows and the safety of celebration.

Alison Little

Keys was written in response to an art installation all named ‘Keys’ created by Raymon Watson for the History of Hands exhibition held at the Victoria Gallery & Museum in Liverpool. In this, a collection of keys originally from the Crumlin Road Prison were suspended and used in conjunction with a sound installation. The exhibition ran from the 10.03.18-21.04.18.

History of Hands Exhibition

Victoria Gallery & Museum

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P-T-S-D

PTSD image

P-T-S-D is the latest poem from Alison Little, it was entered into the National ‘A Poem to Remember’ call out to mark the centenary of World War One drawing to a close. The Defence and National Rehabilitation Centre (DNRC) is being built in the Midlands and looks to be one of the Worlds largest Rehabilitation Centres for our Armed Forces.

 

P-T-S-D

All around us, there is dust

The winds whip up

Grit in eyes, forward I thrust

Helmand, bombs erupt

 

We must regain the village

Taliban must be defeated

We have covered much mileage

Another squadron, retreated

 

Insurgents surround on both sides

Cloths cover faces

On direction, we must abide

Put through paces

 

I watch myself on the wall

But I am not in Afgan

On homeland, stand tall

In my mind, it re-ran

Greenspace, young kickball

Flashback, I am no fan

Help, I can fight this disorder

Trauma, taking over the border

I will work through re-enactment

Mind healthy outside battlement

Thoughts to discover a safe place

Dwell no more, on dessert space

 

Alison Little

A Poem to Remember