We all conform, with synchronized menstrual
cycles and hurting hearts, except when I don't. They often demand to know her
body’s whereabouts: I keep quiet. Ironic, isn’t it? They don't care she was “Filth,
“dealing death as readily as drugs. Parole denied, but I can wait. Another six
months is nothing, when you’ve survived heroin.
But I won't see the Stour again. I must head
North, away from undone lives and dirty needles, trail my fingers in the Wharfe,
drown every last vestige of bloodlust. Fresh prison gossip whispers she lives, faked
her death, has new identity. The crime I was framed, tried and punished for calls-no,
compels me! I still have shocking connections-assistance and vindication guaranteed!
Filth would be minced, devoured, digested, picked up piecemeal in plastic poop
bags.
Lucky for her they can't hold me in Worcestershire,
as they hold me here. On 23rd March, 2020, I flee home.
4 comments:
I wonder whether lockdown at home will cool or intensify her desire for revenge? I suspect it will grow when she has nothing much else to think about. Crime did apparently fall during lockdown. Perhaps lockdown ending could be her 'Chapter Two'!
Thanks Liz...I didn't think about another chapter, but the idea of having being punished for a crime you didn't commit fascinated me, could it be the perfect murder? I always like an ending where you aren't sure of the outcome, I don't even know it myself, but rather hope her better self prevails 🤔
The language in this is fantastic, Irena! I just love "where the canal bends like liquid ribbon"; it's such an imaginative, poetic and accurate description, producing a clear, vivid image.
This is a very well-written, evocative piece.
Alex
Wow, thankyou so much 🙂🙂🙂it started with lying in bed and imagining the landscape, and wondering how it would be to be kept from seeing it.
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