Page 31

habits. The screen went blank, the room quiet. What are we going to do now, arsehole? Sarah had asked him. She had looked so mock-stern that he’d burst into laughter, half-drunk and manic. Sarah had started laughing too. What was a television, when they had that little bit of laughter filling the room? Sarah could remember other times when they had laughed together. Though when she thought about it in any detail, it always seemed like they had been laughing at someone: Jayne McCraig tripping in her ridiculous heels at her mother’s third wedding; Martin Shaw crashing his luxury Mercedes through his own garage door; Nigel, her father’s friend, who had pissed himself at the old man’s funeral. These were the times that remained lucid. All the other laughter, directed not at other’s misfortunes but at happiness and good times, had simply decided to go and hide, locked up nice and tight somewhere in her overspilling cranium. And it was overspilling, and when she looked at the mess they had made in the middle of the floor, that is what she thought of: her own battered and wasted brain. The admission had been almost simultaneous. David fell through the door drunk, guilt and bawling and telling everything about Josephine, the other woman; Sarah nodding and relieved, talking about how it was strangers that made her feel anything any more, how the anonymity of it seemed to be the only thing that made any sense. ÉCLAT FICTION

31

MAY 2012

Profile for Eclat Fiction

Éclat Fiction - Issue 3  

The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com

Éclat Fiction - Issue 3  

The third issue of Éclat Fiction (an online short story anthology). www.eclatfiction.com

Advertisement