Pretty Cut Up

Contributor: Bruce Costello

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Alice the writer, in green jeans, with wet and wild eyes, lurching,
bottle in hand, onto the footpath, into the night,
muttering, muttering...

"It seems I was not your destination.
I was words that heard...
I met a man who walked on paths untrodden before.
How did he get there? How did he find the way? How can it be... that he does not love me...anymore?
I was hands that healed...
Listen, can’t you hear me, silently, in every part of you that I have touched?
I was lips that loved...
Can’t you taste my open mouth, moist eyes, my love that soothed your long held fears?
I was a heart that cared...
How dear you were, a delight of joy, light and laughter, a feeling that overwhelmed me and was me, the I that was me with you, a warm bath on a cold day, a cool drink when the tongue is hot and dry.
I was eyes that saw...
See how they cry,
♫ See how they run, see how they run, they all runned after the farmer’s wife, she cut off their tailsssssss with a carving knife, did you ever see thuch a thing in your liiiifffe.......♫"

Alice empties the bottle, stumbles on, trips, and picks herself up with a howl of hurt and rage. A dog leaps from a gateway, snarling, ready to lunge. Alice whips out a knife, slashes the animal’s face, laughs hysterically and staggers on.

The bitch’s car is in his driveway.

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New Zealander Bruce Costello semi-retired in 2010 and took up writing to avoid housework. Since then he's had over 30 short stories published, is seriously afflicted with Submission Addiction Syndrome and still does housework.
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