Four Plots in search of a Novel
This time, Remembering one half of me would regret it .
I murdered a pint in cold blood, earlier I had only managed a murder of passion.
Newspapers rustled at the edges of my consciousness and conscience. They said
VICTIM in a robust bold font. Which was half true.
A heavier sigh than death. Unfurling in the clouds.
I can’t remember a time when her face looked so beautiful,
gazing up, astonished. Like that time when I first saw her in the Catholics church.
Roaring into our souls we held hands tight as lovers.
‘Amen’ , she sighed.
Everyone Loves you. She said with ease not recognising that her three words were not the ones I had wanted to hear or maybe realising too well. She held my gaze with those eyes like port in crystal. She heard me say, Not everyone. I am sure she did.
Chris has brought a dead rabbit into the bar, ‘Fifty pence’, he says, ‘a bargain mate’.
‘Sorry’, I say,’ I’m a vegetarian’. ‘A what?’ he asks incredulously before scowling off thunderous to the snug. A week later he finds me. ‘Cauliflower’ he says, ‘Fifty pence for two’.