I.
Imagine an abandoned labyrinth, bisected, shimmering with lesions. Muddy.

Imagine a photograph pressed into a wet wall. An image develops for about two seconds before someone throws it in the trash, mistaking it (the weak photograph) for packaging.

The photograph blanches then recedes then fizzes, like soda on a stain.

Everything is red. The trees look like they’re bending over. The lorry is approaching the village. Nurpur. Don’t tell anyone it was Nurpur. Just say it was any old village.