As the bus travels through time, she tries not to, but minute by minute she finds herself dozing off. Patting the lump in her dress where Herbie sleeps, her eyes flicker like the wings of a moth, and in one sudden move, her head snaps back and the rug beneath her feet’s swept clean away and just like that she finds herself running through a field of singing sunflowers. As nature’s music hangs so sweet in the air, little Herbie is no longer asleep in her pocket but sat perched upon her shoulder, and as she runs as quick as she can, he nuzzles his nose against her ear and whispers the name of her secret lover filling her with so many curious feelings. Even stranger is how when she tries picturing his face, she sees only that of a grinning fox, devilishly handsome and sly with those same cunning eyes she knows like the back of her hand even after all this time. The beating sun is a flaming queen, and the oranges and yellows of the flowers are like those Van Gogh used to paint. The richness of them takes her back to a memory of eating marmalade on toast while sat on the knee of her dear grandmother. She can see the sparkle in her grandmother’s eyes, and as the heavenly lady rubs her wrinkled fingers through X’s childish hair, she breathes in and feels the colours of the universe swell inside her belly, and then she’s spinning through the field of sunflowers again and as she stretches out her arms touching either side of the horizon, there’s only the love of life, and the love of being a living, breathing creature of God with a headful of dreams and a heart of hope that’s on the brink of bursting. As she shrieks and cries, the birds from above dive down from the sky and spin with her, and the bees that circle the flowers come and circle her instead, and just like that she finds herself transforming. Gone is her flesh and the bones inside and gone is her hair and the clothes upon her frame replaced by that of a coat of brightly coloured florets. The scent of sweat is replaced too by the scent of warm pollen, and as the bees crawl upon her new skin she giggles at the thought of what she’s becoming, and what she’s becoming is a sunflower of her own, and as she sways in the field along with all the others, she reaches up to touch the sun so that she may become one with everything, and as the wind pushes her back and forth, she looks down to find little Herbie has become a sunflower himself, and in that second she knows the beauty that comes from change is worth all the pain in the world.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US