Waking with a start, she realises she’s missed her stop. Not by much, but it doesn’t prevent her from cussing. The woman sat opposite gives a disapproving look. Incensed, X removes little Herbie from her dress and shoves him in the woman’s face. Look at me like that again, bitch, and he’ll chew out your fucking tongue. Laughing before the last of the words escape her mouth, she tucks a bewildered Herbie back into her pocket then jumps down the stairs to the bottom of the bus as the stuffy woman howls at the horror of it all. Pressing the buzzer, X walks to the front and shields her eyes from the sunlight pouring in. She’s not too far from home. A ten-minute walk at most with a cigarette and then she’ll be able to scrub her stinky skin and tuck into that bottle of wine. Smiling to herself, the bus takes a left and pulls into the road that follows on from hers. On either side, she can see a mass of parked cars with ten thousand takeaway leaflets tucked under their windscreen wipers. Turning to the driver, she asks this stop, please, to which he gives a nod and slows down. When the door opens, a blast of hot air hits her. Double checking little Herbie is still there, she’s about to step off when she remembers her dream. Standing there with her arms outstretched, the sensation of being a sunflower washes over her, and just like that she sways as if bending in the breeze. The grown-ups sat on the bottom deck don’t appear to notice, and neither does the driver, but for a split second she flickers in and out of existence again. It’s the music that gets her, pulling her away to some other place where she’s free of her human form. With her hands spread wide like the wings of a bird, she tilts her head and tastes honey. She tastes the mouth of God, too, and with the sun on her cheeks, it dissolves the tears that have crept from the corners of her eyes. Although those around her are unaware of her state, the children sat with their grandparents sit in awe watching as she sways, hypnotised by a vision not of this world. Of course, what she finds most curious is the image of the fox. Caressing its invisible shape, she smiles at the golden shine of its fur, and of the love she finds behind those familiar eyes that gaze back at her like they’ve done so many times before. And then just like that, she flickers back to reality. Thanking the driver, she hops onto the boiling sidewalk and sways a little more as the smoke of a cigarette hits her lungs causing her to twitch and sneeze.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US