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Short Cut
By
Rusty Broadspear
As we walked across the heath land
Lost in our own shared thoughts,
Walking into dusk.
There was no sunset, only greyness
And the distant sound of an inter-city
Carrying commuters homeward bound…
Or maybe into oblivion!
In secrecy, the sky suddenly fell,
Our footsteps and breathing
Were accompanied only by muted silence.
Occasionally things crunched or slipped
Beneath our feet.
Clumps of wild grasses with blades as sharp as the night
Tried in vain to slash our boots;
In desperation they writhed and squirmed
Finally giving up their futile fight
As we passed on by.
Gorse bushes, each with a hundred eyes,
Hugged the damp, peaty earth, unseen,
Bearing silent witness to these intruders.
Power cables crackled close by
And then were silent.
Nothing stirred in the damp darkness.
We quickened our pace and she gripped my hand
We carried on in silence.
She wanted to splinter every bone in my hand….
The feeling was mutual.
Blood…warm and sticky glued our palms.
Whose blood was it? I didn’t know.
I know one thing though,
From now on someone is driving me,
No more walking and taking short cuts
Just for a pint.
As for the blood…
Just a profusion of sweat from two terrified individuals.
As for our wish to hurt each other…
Just a product of our fevered imagination…
Or was it???
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