I stayed out there on that cliff for 42 nights, waiting for a message from beyond. My husband said I was mad and begged me to come home with him. It was the dead of Winter, after all. He bought me two fisherman knit sweaters, a torch, a thermal sleeping bag and twice a day a a basket full of food. The morning basket, a pot of porridge with honey and a pot of coffee. At night, a chicken soup, rye bread and whiskey. He loved me, he said, on a note on the bottom of every basket. But, I wouldn't leave until it returned, the bird that took Abigail. Stephen was with me when it happened. He said the bird was grey with an orange beak, but I knew it was black and the beak was the same. Stephen pointed to a spot 100 yards out to sea when the Coast Guard asked for the instructions as to where to search. But, I was certain the bird landed on a craggy island of rock, to the left, which the sailors said didn't exist. But who's to say what exists? In the hospital they told me, in the form I knew myself all those years. That I was better than the other person who believed that they had a baby named Abigail and a husband named Stephen.
He just about saw the back of the car as it disappeared over the hill.
That was the back of mother’s head. She was driving, even though she had never driven before.She just jumped into the car when the car started to roll.
Not surprisingly, the car swerved right, hit a guard rail and rolled down a steep embankment.
I probably should have notified the police, but why bother?
The ravine was thick in late August tangles.
My lucky day, the overturned car wouldn’t be found for months.
I was kind of sad that Catherine and Jeremy were in the back, but I never got on well with my siblings and after all, they didn’t testify on my behalf during the Sullivan Investigation. They let me fry on the stand and going down for 17 years was no picnic.
That’s why they seemed surprised when I arrived at the door last night. I guess they hadn’t read that I was released.
Surprising how easy it is to snap the brake line on a Vauxhall. Piece of cake really.
Getting shot doesn’t hurt that much. The body has a way of dealing with it. It goes into shock. Getting shot by your mother, on the other hand, has a bit more of a sting […]
“You, fucking son of a bitch, Rocco. I told you you could use my father’s car to pick up the drop, but I didn’t expect you to bring it back with two severed arms and […]
I've made love seven times today; To the door, To the past, With all of my ghosts and their cousins. Satin children all lines up to see me fail. I drank a cup of tea in a room labeled loneliness, And then cracked my vein open And fed it with drugs from the graveyard, Ones I had collected that morning, Distilled from frost And suffering from empathy. It was then that I caught myself in the mirror, Propped up at the tomb of myself in the future. I was playing at the cinema. My head was the projector. And my eyes saw what you will never see, Your contempt for me, Which you kept hidden in a little canvas satchel, Under the bones That used to be our bed.