Imagine the Glass is Green

 
Outside, his car still burned. Thick smoke wrapped around the bay window as if he were trying to climb back inside. She popped another sleeper, washed down with absinthe.

Imagine the glass is green. Drink will block him out. She slips fingers inside her robe and strokes bruises. But she is safe inside a tumbler of Fairy Green, where his fists can't reach.

The incendiary bomb had been worth every penny. Just the click of a button and she'd caught him. Cherry flames and smoke. She'd flinched at every punch he'd thrown at the unbreakable glass.

After a while he'd slumped against the steering wheel, a smoking crash dummy segmented by flames.

Nearly empty. She fumbled the last pills into her mouth, rolled them on her tongue, raised the glass to her lips and drank.


 
* Bill West lives in Shropshire, UK and has been published both in ezines and in print. http://writewords.org.uk/bill_west/