Day Three 4th of October 2014 #Moseley
The way home took her past the railway line and the park gates at the north end of Moseley. As she stood on the bridge, looking down through the patchwork of trees, a train shuddered underneath. Outside the park, a group of drunks were sitting on wooden benches and the concrete rims of the flower beds. There were at least a dozen of them. She could see the child moving from one to another, simplifying the faces, animating the gestures. One of the group dropped a bottle, reached down and then fell onto the spreading pool. She lay there face upward. Her hands twitched, grabbing the air. Some of the others gathered round her, then started to draw back. A blurred off-white shape was forming slowly around her head. Claire could see thin hands in it and a black mouth like a hole dug in earth. The image glowed slightly, but it made the surroundings darker, as though draining the light from everything else was the only way it could keep itself bright. It cradled the dying woman’s head and sang in her ear. Nobody else moved or spoke. There was a stillness in them like the frost that coated the paving stones.
From the story Empty Mouths, in The Terrible Changes, Ex Occidente Press, June 2009
Please post images for this text on the 4th of October, 2014 with the hash tag #Moseley
See submission guidelines for more detail. You can find them here.
Lost Districts 