Meat is Murder – Sunday Photo Fiction

63-06-june-8th-2014

I zip up my wet suit, noticing the tightness in my shoulder as I reach between my shoulder blades. I’m not getting any younger or more flexible, and it’s been a week since I felt the muscle tear. I have to do this now, before it’s too late.

I look up, back to the dunes and watch Timmy gnawing at the bone I had given him earlier. Hopefully, the marrow will keep him occupied long enough for me to be nearing the horizon and far beyond his failing eyesight. I’d been giving him a lot of meaty treats lately. Guilt, I suppose.

I pat my chest, feeling the reassuring crackle of plastic underneath. All of our, no my worldly goods are in there. It should be enough.

I push the canoe into the waves, past the first swells and step in, settling myself into the seat. I begin paddling, strong, swift strokes that are my reward for months of practice.

I ponder at Timmy’s new and healthy appetite. Funny, I’d never thought of him as a predator before. Still, I suppose any animal can develop a taste for human flesh, given the opportunity…

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Here’s my latest entry into Alistair’s Sunday Photo Fiction. He supplies us with his own wonderful photos, so deserves our support! Happy Sunday, all….

Do take part if you have time, or just pop over and read the other entries.

Mum’s the Word

Does the big bloke give her a nudge with his huge elbow? The picture is too grainy. I try zooming in again, squinting at the frozen image, but it makes no difference. I fast-forward through the bit where the other patients rush to her aid, whilst the bloke just sits, not moving a muscle. I see the light change to the left of all the action, then another man appears, but his back is turned. Dammit, I just can’t tell.

I pick up the second DVD and poke it into the machine.  This one is too sharp, too close up – I can see the hairs on her old-lady chin, the weave of her tweed suit. I sit back, frustrated, twisting my head one way, and then the other – I’m stiff from hunching over this damned computer for too long. Come on, come on! I need to call in soon…

The last DVD is much better, the angle is just right. This time, I can see the other patients in the waiting room unbutton the woman’s coat, loosen her scarf and lift up her feet, propping them up on a pile of old magazines. She comes round slowly, and they help her to a corner seat and give her some water. They huddle around her, patting her hand, fanning her with a magazine. The big bloke remains statue-still, glued to his seat.

The consulting room door opens a crack – I pause the recording, scan the rest of scene, holding my breath. No, everything is OK – all eyes are on her. I hit the ‘Play’ button again and watch as the doctor approaches the bloke in the chair. They each nod, reach out as if to shake hands. I hit ‘Pause’, zoom in, then hit ‘Play’ again. The big bloke does one of those double-handed shakes, the kind that says ‘I’m the boss’. Yep – the deal is being done. Money passes one way, a tightly wrapped package passes the other.

I hit ‘Redial’ on my phone. He answers right away.

‘Hey, Rico – it’s Marcus. Yep, just watched it. No problem, my man, no problem. All good.”

I hang up, pop open a bottle, take a deep swig. The DVD runs its course. The little old lady, now left to her own devices stares straight up at the camera. I zoom in. She winks, and smiles.

Nice one, Mum.