Corn fields. Many, many corn fields. And a little boy in one of them. He is asleep; dressed in an old, torn shirt and faded jeans. He is thin, and perhaps malnourished. There is a yo-yo in his left hand. His legs are full of mosquito bites. He twists and turns in his sleep while the crickets chirp irritatingly.

Another boy; another place. A pond, this time. A dark and dirty pond, filled with weeds. He stands at the water’s edge, hesitant. Then, on an impulse, he dives in. The cold water hits him, followed by a nauseating smell. His feet get entangled in the weeds. Something brushes past his left foot, something slimy. A fish, perhaps; or maybe a snake. He swims towards the centre of the pond, gasping for breath.

A quiet little room. The sunlight streams in through the open window. It reflects off an ugly vase and falls on her hand. She is sitting by a piano, preparing herself to play. She smiles and presses the first key. Then the second. Then the third. Soon we find her playing quite fluently. There is no music in the piano. Its strings have been removed. It stands there like a carcass. A crow sits on the window sill and begins to caw. We hear the sound of little children, playing in the other room.






Wish you were here.