the salt you taste in my blood
comes from the sea
you will never forget it
as I will never forget
the depth of the water
blood
we were distant
we were distant
but our hearts quickened the same
blood pumped
sweat ran
in my mind
I breathed your breath
Roses are red
Roses are red
So is blood
Life’s a beach
“Life’s a beach”. It was the third time she had walked past in that t-shirt and this time she was smiling. I twisted, waved and caught my hand in the sunbed. I looked down. Saw blood. Fainted. I woke up lying next to her. She had fainted too.
50-Word Fiction Competition for Scottish Book Trust
Pendant
The blood-red heart in the plastic is real blood, you say. As you lock the chain around my throat, I shiver. One day it will rust, you whisper, and smile. When never again meets always forever, something has to snap, but this time I do not know.
Blood
gave blood today
saved a life today
gave blood today
saved a life today
watched the flowing through the plastic
watched the darkness of my heart blood
watched the ceiling fan slow turning
watched the darkness of my heart blood
gave blood today
saved a life today
gave blood today
saved a life today
thought of how many teaspoons needed
thought of other reasons bleeding
thought of walking home soon after
thought of other reasons bleeding
lucky to be giving
lucky I’m not needing
lucky to be giving
lucky I’m not needing
gave blood today
saved a life today
gave blood today
saved a life today
Bus stop, Sunday morning
The bus shelter must have been hosed down afterwards. Frosted ferns spread across the clouded walls. Thinned-rust ice dribbles meaninglessly down to the gutter. People frown at the sooted lamppost then see the torn blue tape. A robin cocks its head, challenging our gaze.
Year of blood, year of ice
The year of blood stretched its weary limbs. Clots dripped in the half-light.
The new year of ice bared its teeth. They are mine now, the wind whistled. And they have done it all themselves.
But in one corner, one quiet corner, the green and yellow nestled. It would take time, a long time, and human touch and heat, but the blood and the winter would come to an end. That time was coming. Hope could be felt.
Slow poison
There! A way through! Hope rushed through his veins. But no, he’d tried that before. The hope soured into a sickening slow poison.
Waiting room
Watching slow blood drip can be relaxing. I move my foot a little and the flower on the waiting room floor grows dotted petals. I have been here for three hours so I decide to fill in the spaces between the dots. My picture will be complete by the time they call me. I’m betting they will call me in just under an hour so they do not break any rules.
But after three and a half a cleaner shouts at me and wipes the floor beneath my foot into a sticky red veil. She’s right – I wouldn’t bleed on my own floor like that. But my foot is still bleeding so there is little I can do.
At three minutes short of four hours (I was so, so close) I am called to sit on a different chair, this time around a corner. Hurrah! No sanctions!
Two more hours later, my foot is still oozing – then three stitches in less than two minutes and I can limp home.
I avoid the angry cleaner on my way out.
