Chemistry
By LA Sykes


I felt the blood curdling deep beneath the veneer of my dermis. Though my heart was pumping like I’d always known it to, while I walked to where I was going, I wondered why it bothered.
It took me from the greatest of highs to my current state, and without it I would never have known the difference. Never have known there were such exquisite and simple ecstasies to be savoured and devoured and lost. Lost forever, with reminders scattered around every corner and weather change and colour and musical note. Shivers of gone needling my insides, my body a testament to visceral emaciation.
Men wiser than I understood to find peace in the knowledge of everything being temporary in this life. The problem is when some things are more temporary than others.
We had a chemistry of our own, unique chemistry, interlacing a sweet harmonious tune, ripping through the chaos. Nothing can ever get near it but I found a rough second best to try in vain to escape fleeting memories dancing a tortuous dance and trampling on the reeds of the green fields of my once tranquil place.

My priest is locking up but looks at me with pity in his honest eyes. I force an exhale and say, ‘You got five minutes?’
I can see he’s tired but I’ve exhausted every other source, and I stand steadfast.
His shoulders slump and his eyes fix on my tattered shoes. ‘You’ve drifted a long way from the flock. Come on in. It’s cold, the sun’s deceiving.’

We sit side by side on the top pew and the smell of incense triggers a flash of her sister’s wedding, of sitting next to her, soaking her in and I could already see a distancing between us, like an iceberg that’d split and the fragment drifting off and slowly bobbing away in the harsh, cold sea.
‘What do you want?’
‘I want to ask you how far is safe to go when your motives are of the purest form.’
‘Depends’.
‘On what?’
‘On how far you can run with interpretations to ease your soul.’
‘It could just be all made up though, right?’
‘Could be, yes. Or not, though.’
‘But we’ll never know?’
‘Not until it’s too late, no. Then, then friend, we’ll wish we’d done different.’
‘I need all of your cash. I’ve a weapon in my inside pocket and I’ve come to peace with taking chances on wishing forever.’
‘It’ll be a long time for regret.’
‘Of the purest of motives. I’ve found my interpretations.’
He came back with the Church’s money and I threw the knife on the floor and kicked it over to him as I left. He stared at the light glinting from the dying sun on the blade.

The powder man must have heard my footsteps for knocks and welcomed me inside. I passed over the money.
‘All now?’
‘Please.’
‘You going away or something?’
‘Sure hope so.’
‘Long time?’
‘Long as I can.’
‘Enjoy the ride, my man.’
‘Only this trip left to make. I’ve walked every other road there is and behind all the glowing I saw its shadows.’
‘Like I say, enjoy the ride.’

I strode through the forest and the incremental twilight darkened in stride with me. Filaments of light flickered off the still lake below from the brazen moon.
The powder pulsed through my rejuvenating blood and I felt it and I kidded myself the best I could it was our connection. I looked at the moon’s chinked twin, its rippled reflection distorting on the water. Pairs of swans drifted through in silence.
Another couple of ounces and I’d not need to ponder these kinds of things any more. And finally I saw the wisdom from the wise who knew not to fret, when, after all is said and done, everything is only temporary.


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LA Sykes grew up in small town Greater Manchester, England. He studied psychology and criminology at University of Central Lancashire before working in psychiatry. His flash fiction is up at and due to appear in the likes of Shotgun Honey, Powder burn Flash and Blink Ink amongst others. He can be contacted at sykesfiction@live.co.uk