FOUND WRITING

“Scars”

by

Darren Watkins

“You bitch,” he said, saliva dribbling from his half open mouth as he limped towards Janet, wielding his walking stick like a club.

“Please don’t!” Janet pleaded as he backed away, tripping and falling so that she lay prostrate before him.

Relishing the fear in her eyes he raised the cane higher, clutching it in both hands by its rubber-tipped end.

“Please...”

For a moment it seemed as if he were going to stop, as he had so many times before; then the feral heat of madness returned and he brought the cane down with a sickening thud.

The single blow pulverised Janet’s skull, transforming her pretty features into a collage of gore, the brass handled cane appearing to absorb the thick red mass like a sponge -

“No!” Dave jolted awake. He realised after a moment’s disorientation that he had fallen asleep in his armchair again, the living-room light still blazing.

Sweat had moulded Dave’s T-shirt to his emaciated torso like a second skin; his heart thundered in his chest, as if about to burst through his ribcage in a shower of cartilage and blood.

Running a hand through his tangled mop of brown hair Dave slumped back into the comforting folds of the chair, feeling the perspiration cooling against his body.

Tongue rasping against the roof of his mouth, lips cracked and dry, he desperately craved water to slake his thirst, apathy and depression binding him to his chair more tightly than any rope or chain.

The telephone rang making Dave’s muscles spasm involuntarily; its petulant cry like the mournful plee of a child alone in the darkness. Although jarring his nerves he ignored it, praying for the caller to give up and leave him to his dark thoughts.

He remained that way for a long time, staring at his wedding photograph on the mantelpiece, thinking how beautiful Janet had been that day...