The Writer's Voice
The World's Favourite Literary Website

Short Cut


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???

Critique this work

Click on the book to leave a comment about this work

All Authors (hi-speed)    All Authors (dialup)    Children    Columnists    Contact    Drama    Fiction    Grammar    Guest Book    Home    Humour    Links    Narratives    Novels    Poems    Published Authors    Reviews    September 11    Short Stories    Teen Writings    Submission Guidelines

Be sure to have a look at our Discussion Forum today to see what's
happening on The World's Favourite Literary Website.