Beachcombing
Each day, sea gifts: parched sinews of driftwood, briny seaweed ribbons, glass gems. Time mats their hair. Salt silvers their skin. Their moans echo wind-ache. Their lives peel. Their souls dry. Each day, they dig beneath the swathe of sand for their veiled child.
#biblioklept
Jo was a biblioklept, at first, never leaving a friend's house without a book tucked under her cardi, but she progressed to breaking and entering: for gold-edged tomes, fine pages of calligraphy, and a purple velvet book which oozed with smoke.
That was her undoing.
#bludgeon
She awoke to damp hay. A rustle. Someone in her bed. Still lying on her side, she reached behind. Touched the mattress. Debris shifted beneath her fingertips.
In a swift arc, she grabbed the bludgeon and swung.
His turnip smile rolled off the straw-strewn bed. Clunk.
#back and #lifeless
'Here's your tea. Thought it best to call you, even though it's probably just a recurrence of her bad back.'
The cup rattled as Dorothy saw her lifeless mother on the bed.
'So sorry,' said Dr Reed, pushing the syringe into his pocket. 'I guess it was her time to go.'
#because
They called her The Bird Lady because she wore them like a coat, a low trill bouncing in her throat as she called them.
At night, she'd curl in a nest of straw, head tucked, the plumes from her shoulder blades ruffling in the night breeze as she dream-flew with the flock.
#binding and #chat
'I have to be able to trust.'
Jet yanked another stretch, binding Al's legs.
Pushed him off the chair.
Rolled him, winding the tape in a python grip.
'And you let me down.'
He wrapped his head. Cut a slit.
'Now, let's chat. No?'
RRIP!
Jet patched the hole.
#blindfold and #sunset
Don't know how long I'd been down there. When my blindfold was ripped off, there wasn't the bright shock I'd expected. Instead, a pink glow: a rosy sunset was framed in the roof window.
Then a hand wiped it away & a face peered at me through the smeared glass.
#butcher and #head
The neighbours of Cherry Rise 'mostly' got on splendidly.
Tonight was a themed banquet at no.3, home of Di and butcher Dave.
There was a collective gasp, and applause when the cloche was lifted.
With an apple in its mouth was the head of grumpy Len from no.8.
#banshee and #stab
He'd massacred them. Now it was about self-care.
Niall was calm under the bright moon. On plucked waves, his boat tipped and fell. The keening banshee wail unnerved him.
He flicked his torch, before launching overboard, skewered by the stab of the needlefish.
#beads and #grave
Beads of rain ran down the glass. Another mound had appeared in the cemetery.
As always, Carla opened her window and whispered to the newly-filled grave, 'Rest in peace.'
She climbed back into bed, thick with souls, and now a little damp, and slept soundly.