We present an extract from A Brief Inhalation, the new collection of essays from Cork writer Daragh Fleming.
With the same biting humour and deeply personal tone that defined his previous works (Lonely Boy and Notes for a Mid-Youth Crisis), A Brief Inhalation offers readers a candid exploration of the everyday and the extraordinary. From tales of adolescence and heartbreak to profound reflections on identity and creativity, Fleming invites readers to see themselves in the absurdities and struggles of his world.
A Brief Inhalation
Wind. Like the propellers of ancient aircraft. But not propelled. Wind in my ears. Suffocating volume. Noise-cancelling wind. Beautiful, full absorption. Dry nose like a tea towel. Dry eyes like dry ice. Screaming but not hearing it. Screaming silently but feeling it. Gorgeous wind.
Scent of water. Salting, fizzy ocean. Far below, but in the nostril still. Rocks jagged in isolation. Stay away from here. Warning sings. Private property, trespassers well be persecuted. You shouldn't be here. Seagulls floating, gliding, thriving. Held up by the enormous, invisible gush of the world. The instinctive trust. The genetic understanding.
The wind breaks. A brief inhalation.
White noise of the ocean waving crashes in. Briefly. Exhalation. Omnipresent wind. Never relenting, just changing position.
Here you go, it says, hear me go.
Hands and arms splayed out, stretched out, trying to catch either side of the sky and fold it in on itself. Keep it safe until tomorrow. Wind on bare skin. This is how you’re meant to feel it. Shoulder-blades pulled apart like seams of grass. Chest like a cave opening up below. Let the water inside. Allow it make ancient sounds against the hollows of your cavern.
See the edge. Feel the edge. Fear the edge. Edge of the world.
Edge of someone else’s horizon. Grass about the edge like someone tore up the carpet. Bad-haircut grass. Careless barber scissor-hands. Miles of hairy continent and then suddenly—none.
The wind now, like a friend, egging you on. Edging you to the edge. Gentle sway, firm push.
Here you go, it says, here we go.
Eyes closed. Ears covered. Nose masked. Skin, alive. Deep gulp of godly wind. Trust it like the seagull. Understand genetically.
Leave go, it says, leave you go.
A Brief Inhalation is published by Broken Sleep Books
