By Nod Ghosh
I met him on a Friday. The clock had stopped at Pentecost. There was danger in the turquoise smoke of his eyes. He stamped the snow off his boots by way of apology. No time for gifts. No time for words.
Imagine there are no boundaries, he said, and slipped his knife-thin tongue between my lips. The weight of a thousand disappointments lifted. I shouted: this will be mine.
The next time he came, I moulded my thoughts into words, and threw them at him. My voice raked the air in hoarse whispers. I wanted everything. He wanted more. He was a man of few words, and fewer actions. Only the rough handling of someone who cared less than he ought to.
But, I said, “Can’t you feel my heart speak? See how we’re changing?”
How, he asked, when your questions chase the space between seconds away? My dreams remained captive, along with my caution.
The third time, he encased me in knotted arms. His shouts were sharp as pepper, thin as bones. When he trapped me with the palm of his hand, I knew it was over.
He bit my cheek. I tasted blood.
My screams slipped under the door like paper.
Nod Ghosh’s work features in anthologies: Love on the Road 2015 (Liberties Press), Landmarks (U.K. 2015 NFFD), Horizons 2 (Top of the South NZSA), Leaving the Red Zone (Clerestory Press, N.Z.), and various other publications. Nod is associate editor for Flash Frontier, an Adventure in Short Fiction. Further details: http://www.nodghosh.com/about/