bandage soaked with juices, turned purple and sickly, turned like the
sky did into thickening dark rolls. Fade in noise there, there, she
turned her head trying to pinpoint the sound crumbling machine collapse,
a scream bullet shot into her. Then silence with head pound breathing.
Breathing from the the road, sounded like when she had rolled a tire
down tin can hill, hollow wind chimes followed by the sound of a window
crashing in a bucket.
..A breathing dark fear like something
at night under a bed. Her hand opened, dropped the bucket, and ran towards
the road: wind and branches grabbing long hair, feet stepping on bark
and stones. She found a girl lying at the bottom of the hill, middle
of the road, bent in the potholes, her dress flower print, torn and
bloodied. She bent down to look into the eyes of the girl who was covered
in tears and dust and spit, bent down and knees came up under her chin,
looked into the shining slits where her eyes would be. A two wheeled
toy is crippled in the ditch, oil can wrapped through the spokes.
.. Smelling of blood, she didn't move but
a soft growling liquid bubble is born in her throat, a rasping gargle
from the mouth. This raggedy anne girl, little flopping doll with no
voice and no strength, brought from the road to the cottage, brought
to bed. As the day sunk into night and bats screeched and clapped, tar
paper cut out clouds all fibre blocked out the moonie man. Crackling
fire in the cottage and sparks skidded out onto the floor with the big
wet bag sound.