the start of avery

Avery walks quickly through the narrow train station tunnel. Halogens flicker cancerously above and the wet clap of his souls against the shallow piss-puddles reminds him of his mother. When he was still pink and soft to touch she bathed him in a claw foot tub that smelled of rust and opium. He would slide beneath the warm bathwater gazing up into the strangely distorted face while she slapped the water’s surface, creating ripples that tickled his eyes and flicked the drums of his ears. He stares hard into the memory hoping to resurrect some of its comforts.