Monday, March 07, 2011

Visions of Helvica

Alexander McQueen

With an accompanying flutter of apprehension, a pale shadow crossed the walls of his night; an ever-present spectre on the surface of his tenuous existence.
Helvica had left him in the underpass where the water reflected on the underside of the concrete structure formed a net to catch his fleeing and wordless thought-dreams.
“Don’t fucking move monkey-boy,” she’d said, “I’ll be back with food.”
He hated it when she called him names.
He loved her for looking after him.
He lay back and materialised her face in the light-net – a mahogany mask, cheeks resplendent with name-scars at the hand of her father’s ritual razor; hair a suede halo – he was overcome by her beauty; black fur bristled at his nape.
His thought-dreams were interrupted by an avalanche of loose dirt announcing Helvica’s return to the underpass.
“Bad news Tarzan, the locals have picked up our scent; we need to move, like now.”

Tales for the attention-span deficit reader


Harlequin said...

you know, i just have to say, i love the way your mind works; quirky, perverse, expressively imaginative... yes, indeed.

Pisces Iscariot said...

Harlequin: perhaps I have read a little too much sci-fi pulp.