Skins of Fur


The magic carpet of foxes takes me further into the heart of the woods. Further away from all that I once knew, and further from a future I want no part of. Such a thing makes me flash my teeth and grin just like them. Them that bark and salivate as my fingers clutch handfuls of their wet hair. Them that bite and chew the invisible moon as it pulls us towards some other time and place. As we journey through the darkness, the flashes of lightning reveal scores of animals watching with widened eyes. Into a slight clearing and the rain falls as heavy as stones hitting my skin leaving welts in all shapes and sizes. My body’s covered with them along with numerous cuts and scratches. From somewhere in the distance comes the banging of drums, and although I don’t know what awaits, I know it’s because of her. When I say her name, the foxes bark and move faster between the trees that race towards us. When I think of her face, I can feel the beating of their hearts through their skins of fur as they palpitate and throb. Another roar of thunder. Another boom that shakes everything to the bone. As I cling onto dear life, my fox sniffs the air and darts to the right. Following two seconds behind, those that carry me leap upwards clearing a wall of mangled roots. Mist escapes my mouth before vanishing out of sight. My flesh tightens and the bruises and cuts redden and sting like the teeth of the fox that sink into my hand stopping me from falling. Inside of me, I feel a changing. It causes tears to squeeze from the corners of my eyes and my throat to run dry. The banging of drums grows louder, and as her name whispers all around, my fox changes direction again before hurrying along with his belly close to the ground. He’s caught a scent. A scent that tickles his nose as well as mine making me twitch and sneeze. Within seconds, it fills the woods, enveloping everything like a fine mist. It’s as if a door’s been opened. Sitting up on the backs of the foxes, I place my hands out and see her in my mind’s eye looking the same as she did the day we last met. The world has moved on. Life has changed in unchangeable ways. And yet still she calls to me the same as I call to her, and across the great divide, we speak without knowing the meaning of our words.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US

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