The Eyes On The Walls

The hallway is lined with playing cards, walls of black and white and red. There is no discernable pattern, no order to the rows and columns that hide the walls. Faces are across at faces, the suicidal King, the black-haired Queen.

Some cards are flipped over, backs exposed. The designs are intricate, as extravagant as the curlicues and flourishes on tarot cards. They are images of vines and spirals and tiny buds.

You walk along slowly, looking to see if any of them are different, but the faces remain the same, the numbers do not increase above 10 or decrease below 2. You can imagine the feeling of the cards beneath your fingers, while they are pristine you imagine soft edges, bent corners, cards that have seen smoky pubs and logwood cabins and rainy days. Memories emerge from their corners and niches, some better than others.

You squint at the cards. Is the Jack smiling here? Has the suicidal King closed his eyes? Is the Queen weeping at the sight? The cards seem more morose, more tragic as you continue. This cannot be all there is.

You avoid the eyes on the walls as you continue down the corridor. You have not noticed that the most often occurring card is the 2 of hearts. 

Text by Lucie MacAulay

Art by Anonymous