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matches. I eat cold canned food, sleep on the floor, and deliver leaflets to the deprived areas of Manchester for a penny per post. My house is dirty and unfurnished; I have no possessions. I speak only to Wolf. We run under the stone railway bridge and cross the polluted trickle of the River Medlock. We tear across streets without looking and vault the metal railings; we zigzag between post boxes, lampposts, and bollards. Wolf’s large padded paws slam the pavement; dense shoulders throw Wolf forward. Grey ears lay flat and back against Wolf’s head. He howls. This is Oxford Road. It is a bad road and it is a good road. I hate this road. The first night I met Julie we kissed and I shared her bed, and that was all. I laid flat against the wall, watching her sleep, falling in love with her as I tried to guess what she dreamt from the flicker of her eyelids. The next day she told me that we shouldn’t be together. She told me in the shadows at the edge of Whitworth Park so that I couldn’t see her face. She’d taken it all away without knowing what she had given. But later, for a time, before the bus, she gave it back. My stride is long, my breath steady; this is the way Wolf has taught me. A thin brick wall marks the front of a terrace row, I pound onto it with hands and feet and speed along its edge. The chase has consumed me; I think I can taste her. I became Julie’s shadow. I was there when she ate bacon sandwiches ÉCLAT FICTION

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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

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