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stay in this circus.    He walks in the dust, kicks off his flip-flops and throws himself on the wheezy mattress. He writes another message to his wife. I will prepare thee coffee with undying love. Sees it arrive on her telephone. This time he feels good. He rolls over, but sleep will not call on him again. He remembers how he used to feel blissful on this island, how together they opened a door and stepped into a peach-scented room. He remembers nights of dancing to French pop music in the bar on the hill, necking like strangers on plastic chairs. *    Manou looks over and sees a big rock career off the hillside into the path of a little car in ascent, which with narrowing logic jerks across their lane into the front of the bus. It isn’t a strong impact but it sends her lolling into the seat in front, jerking her back in slow motion. She feels a crack in her neck. Sees the bus driver thrown into shedding glass. Her seat slides forward with a crunch where it compresses a woman yodelling into the air. *    Rather than return to the tent Miranda walks towards the rock pools and takes the trail onto the headland. This is the way to the town, it is the path she and Leo trod together yesterday, pulling along their bikes. Leo now sweats more than she can bear and his odour is of purging, of pollutants. And he had wanted her. She had taken him into the sea and done it quickly. Now she squats, pulls aside her bikini crotch, shakes herself, undecided whether to go on or tread down to the first of the pools. She looks over the violet surface barely jostling over its deep bed. Later, waves will push through breaches in the partition, and the trapped water will thrash like a beast. She descends carefully, reaches the pebbly water’s edge, removes her shirt and swimming costume and wades into the pool. Here the water clasps her with viscous hands, a purple coating.    She swims out towards the outer wall of the pool, near to where a long slit guides the mounting waves through its fissure. She hears the crump of volume against this, then a long sheeeesh from the other side. A splatter of blue coins reaches her now-dry hair. Fear grasps her by the ankles and it is cold.    She turns back and above her sees a man on the path above, watching her. He is standing there, hands on his hips, bare-chested, dark-skinned. *

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LIJLA Vol.2, No.1 February 2014

Profile for Sacred Heart College

LIJLA Vol. 2 No. 1 Feb. 2014  

Short Fiction/Poetry/Visual Arts/Tanka by James Wall, Shanta Acharya, Billy O'Callaghan, Henry Stindt, George Szirtes, Kala Ramesh, Catheri...

LIJLA Vol. 2 No. 1 Feb. 2014  

Short Fiction/Poetry/Visual Arts/Tanka by James Wall, Shanta Acharya, Billy O'Callaghan, Henry Stindt, George Szirtes, Kala Ramesh, Catheri...

Profile for lijla