The moonlight spread on the river like spilled milk, while the moon itself had a buttery coolness. They came along the river path, their hunger sated on a lonely drunk they’d found among the ghosts of St. Hilda’s, the old, dead centre of Middlesbrough. He was asleep now, weakened with blood loss, but alive, the wounded neck healed by a smear of their transformative blood.
The glow of the town – amber, white, blue – followed the line of Newport Rd over to the south, a wind moving along the river and carrying with it a hint of the sea as the tide rippled towards Stockton.
Cars moved over the bridge ahead of them, a series of rushing shapes that occasionally caught the spark of the overhead neon, fleeting creatures full of hope or despair, rushing towards destinations they would never know.
The world vibrated at a higher frequency now, their eyes blazing as they walked, hand in hand along the gravel path. The stars above, feint but eternal, reflect back their love. A hundred years is too little a time to appreciate all of this.
p.a. morbid is a poet/outsider artist/local historian from Middlesbrough. He runs The Black Light Engine Room Press. Author of River Songs. Gorged On Light. Half Life. Is married to the artist Mary Lou Springstead.