Pursuit

Sweat drenched my face and back. My throbbing feet tried to increase the pace, making my heart pound. I inhaled sourness and my mouth was dry. Tearful, I knew I mustn’t stop.

Looking up, I saw in the mirror a red faced woman, running on the treadmill as if Cerberus pursued her. The monitor showed she’d burned five hundred calories and yet she ran faster, every second of the torture worthwhile as she got thinner and fitter.

Too bad I was looking at the reflection of the woman next to me. Me, I’d barely burnt off a packet of crisps.

running

Copyright 2016 by Paula Harmon. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission

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Needlecraft

Colours twisted in chaos until order emerged. Whispering love, she knitted a uniquely patterned sweater. Kissing the white cotton every time she threaded her needle, she embroidered his undershirt; near invisible soaring birds and full-sailed ships to bring him swiftly home.

If only he had been faithful.

After she heard, her scissors ripped the sails and broke the wings. She crocheted a scarf to cross over his treacherous heart, her hook slippery with drowning tears.

When next he came back to her, she only recognised his water-logged body from the patterns she had woven into his sodden clothes.

knitting2

Copyright 2016 by Paula Harmon. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission

Shapeshifter

She came to him as a woman but he ignored her.

She came to him as a nightingale singing outside his room. And he rejoiced, but shutting the window turned to his true love.

She came to him as a cat weaving around his legs. He caressed her arching back, planting kisses on her fur. But then left her outside to return to his true love.

She came back to him as a dove and flew repeatedly into his window. He picked her up and stroked her feathers; astounded when at death she became a woman with tear filled eyes.

cat tear2

Copyright 2016 by Paula Harmon. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission

Assumptions

“Got any dragons want killing?” The Hero swung his jewelled sword.

“Not so’s you’d notice” The Landlord eyed gilt runes on the silver blade.

“Heard you did”

“Not one that wants killing. He looks after us, we looks after him.”

Yokels. Nice town though. Underfloor heating even in the street. The cellar’s trap door was warm under his boots. Its handle glowed.

“What about when he’s hungry?”

“We feeds him.”

“Many virgins here?” sniggered the hero.

“Don’t eat virgins.”

The hero was surprised: “What does he eat?”

“Nasty folk with treasure” said the Landlord, pulling the lever behind the bar.

Copyright 2016 by Paula Harmon. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permissionfist