Headache (3)
I decided that I’d better go home, better to cry in my bed than here, on top of a hill where I wouldn’t be surprised if my tears froze and fell into my lap like hail. I clicked my torch so that a yellow light pooled in a circle onto the ground in front of me, and stood up from the bench. I was afraid that the blood in my legs had congealed, that I would snap them clean off my torso if I moved. I thought that I would look back and see two pink, frozen legs stood in the darkness, lit up by that dreadful moon, and my satin skirt would flutter in the wind like a butterfly wing. Then I decided that I didn’t care, I didn’t mind being legless, and walked down the hill and through the trees and back home, unlocking the door and traipsing up the stairs and falling into bed, fully clothed, legs still firmly attached to my torso, my voice spluttering and my body shattering into a million fragments of ice that refused to ever melt.










