By ARTS IN FIFE, Sep 6 2016 04:26PM
Ross McDiarmid has contributed to Arts In Fife in the past and we would like to share a snippet from his new prose, New Dawn False Don.
The door under the stairs opens inwards and the light from the hallway sheers through the exposed darkness like the two were immiscible. Don hesitates at the boundary like he was checking his footing at a cliff edge; his face concealed by the ambient gloom as he keeks furtively into the hallway. Once he has established the unlikelihood of happening upon any of Dawn’s family, he slides himself through the gap awkwardly, resisting the urge to look back and apprehend the hidden for the fear of seeing something of himself back in there, as he closes the door.
Standing in the stark light, the briny smear of sweat across his forehead glistening, Don struggles to maintain the disinterestedness of his face, as though its outward lassitude was fraudulent and moulded upon a more gratified countenance; this under-surface only detectible by a slight strain at the edges of his lips and eyes, like he was oozing out of himself. He quickly adjusts the front of his jeans and then like some crepuscular creature he softly ascends the stairs, making sure to place his weight on their edges so they don’t creak at his presence...