A Winter Wonderland

I must have been daft making a run for it in the snow.
Even dafter, though, sitting around waiting to be hung.

How far have I come? Not even a mile and stuck under some bleeding bush. And why pick one with spikes all over it. Can’t get any further in, brambles stuck up my arse and hair caught in the branches. Mind you, after three months without a bloody mirror no one`s going to look their best.

What did I think was going to happen, climb over the wall, nobody misses me, stroll to the road, hail a passing drayman and pay him with love in Rochester? I must have been stupid.

I didn’t even mean to kill the silly cow. I loved her for Christ sake. Best sister I ever had but she shouldn`t have taken the piss especially when she knew I was in the mood.

What’s that noise? Oh shit, not dogs. What do they need bloody dogs for? In this snow even someone as stupid as Tickner could follow my footprints. Can’t get any further under this bush. Bloody hell it`s wet and so bleeding cold.

I bet they’ll have their guns, the fat bastards. They reckon the last one to try this got shot giving up, so that’s it, no giving up. But where to go? If I can just make it to the road…

The last ten minutes of life were turning out to be remarkably rational (and cold).

Part of the problem is getting out from under this bush but here goes… That`s it. Out. Bleeding but ignore it, just bloody run.

Water. Yes that’s it, water puts dogs off. Jump.

No chance.

Up to my waist in water - not good. My bloody ankle hurts too. Keep moving… shit its cold. Get to the bank. Up, go on push. Push. It’s not working. I can’t do it. Please, please let me make it. God please. I didn’t mean to kill her. I loved her and, any way, they shouldn’t hang women. They should hang bleeding Tickner. Him and those like him. They treat you like rats just ‘cause you’re in prison and they love killing.

Go down river - it'll be easier. Shit they’re close. Bleeding dogs. They’re not going to come in here though. I’ll drown the bastards! That’s what I’ll do, Bugger ‘em, I’ll drown myself. Tickner’s not having the pleasure and I’m not going back. Stones. I need stones, heavy stones, these aren't heavy enough. This one is. Hold it in my arms. Cross them, I bet that’s what you’re supposed to do.

They’re so close. The dogs, they’ve found me but they won’t come in the water.

Sorry God, I really did try to be good. Sorry Mum, sorry Grandad, sorry Francis, love you…sorry baby Michael…. See you all in heaven. They’re here, Come on Beth…Do it….Go…Now.

By James Kruschev

No need to explain

I'm running down Embankment in my unbuttoned black-tie suit. A car just beeped at me so I waved, although I didn't recognise its driver. What a cool pleasant night. She made a fuss of course, about me popping out. ‘I’m going to go for a quick run,’ I said to her. We were outside some out-of-order men’s toilets I’d followed them up to. She was still pretending it hadn’t happened, reapplying make-up, checking her reflection for something or other. ‘Did you have something in your eye?’ I said. It was possible. ‘Nothing’s changed,’ she said. I felt a little annoyed. ‘I mean, was he trying to get something out of your eye?’ She wiped a hand up her face so that lipstick she’d just applied made a red moustache of her upper lip. ‘No,’ she said. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that so I just said, ‘Well, no need to explain now anyway.’ Then I decided to go for a run.

I stopped quickly just now to catch my breath. Traffic hurtles past – lorries, taxis, buses. They sort of roar like boisterous animals. I wonder whether I can make it across without stopping. There’s a bit of a gap coming up. Don’t suppose it would hurt to try.

Written by David Jackson

Healthy Living

“This,” Christine muttered as she tied her running shoes, “is an exercise in futility.” The shoes had been a gift from Max, meant to seal their joint commitment to a healthier lifestyle. She had been given more romantic birthday gifts, but she had to admit they were excellent shoes. She had extra-wide feet, and heretofore sneakers had always pinched her little toe so that she would return from running and find the imprint of that toenail in its neighbor’s side. This had quite discouraged her from running.

Frankly, it took a hell of a lot less to discourage her.

As she swung one foot up on the fence post and leaned towards her flexed toe, she wondered if she should just tell Max she’d been running. She could take his trip as a little sabbatical of her own, three days off from weights and sit-ups and sweat dripping into her eyes. Lord knows she could sure use the time to work on the seating chart and go over the band’s play list.

For some reason she could not quite determine, Christine brushed aside that possibility and turned to start down the sidewalk. She took a few walking steps before she accelerated into a jog. She was not entirely sure her jog was actually any faster than the walk had been.

Was this what their life together would be? she wondered. Would she always feel she had to justify the smallest of things? Would she really never again simply buy buttered popcorn at the theater because she felt like it, without first wondering whether Max wanted it plain? Would there be days she could skip brushing her teeth, or would she spend the whole day worried that he would judge her, even though he never had before?

Her pace had picked up a little since she’d turned off Hydraulic Road. There was less traffic here, but there was no sidewalk. Max said running on the dirt by the side of the road was better for her joints, but Christine had a bit of a balance problem. She actually was quite adept at tipping over while standing perfectly still, so she was not terribly enthusiastic about uneven surfaces with crags hidden under a cover of autumn leaves. She stuck to the road.

It did feel nice once she got going, she had to admit. And it was only 30 minutes out of her Saturday morning. Getting started was really the hard part; after that, she just let the momentum carry her forward. She was starting to feel good, downright virtuous, in fact. She’d get back home, take a quick shower, and breeze through the papers she had to grade while riding high on the endorphins.

Turning left off of Emmet Road, she slowed to a walk in the parking lot. She had a moment of indecision before she pulled open the door to the Krispy Kreme. After all, the “hot” light was on.

“Exercise in futility,” she mumbled, pulling three dollars out of her pocket.

Written by Emily Rosenbaum